


Paths Diverge; Paths Merge Together

by Vicwic



Series: Moving On [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lydia not Stydia, M/M, No-one Cheats, Oblivious Stiles, Original Character(s), POV Stiles, Pablo Neruda's Poetry, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Past Relationship(s), Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Season/Series 06, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Burn, Sterek endgame, everyone gets what they want, everyone is at college, post 6a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicwic/pseuds/Vicwic
Summary: Stiles is dating Lydia and studying Forensic Science at George Washington hoping to join the FBI after graduation. Lydia is studying Physics at MIT. Stiles wants a small house with a picket fence and ma's apple pie on the table (metaphorically speaking). Lydia wants to go out and rule the world (also metaphorically speaking...or maybe not, it's Lydia). Stiles wants to continue the Good Fight. Lydia wants to leave it all behind. Between them, something’s gotta give. Derek's reappearance makes everything more, or possibly less, complicated.This is set at the end of 6a. 6b has happened but anything big that's taken place in the show hasn't happened here (apart from Scott/Malia if you squint). There'll be inconsistencies. I'm watching TW on Channel 5 in the UK. They've only reached S3 and I don't do Netflix, streams etc. My knowledge of TW post-S2 is, therefore, from fanfic, blogs and reviews (and I'm a Sterek fan) plus I am a Brit so there'll be mistakes. So, when you come across errors, omissions etc; please mentally tweak the story for yourself and forgive me. I'm sorry.This is my first forray into fanfic, so try and be gentle!(just to note, the Stiles/Lydia is very PG)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: there is reference to past relationship abuse

Stiles listlessly re-arranged the files on his desk and kicked his shoes under his bed, at a loose end. Lydia had gone back to Boston, and his room at George Washington felt empty and quiet without her. His roommate hadn’t returned from wherever he’d disappeared to that weekend. He’d probably be back by evening, Stiles thought. Lydia’s visit, the first since they’d both started college, had eased some of Stiles’ homesickness. He’d found his continued yearning for the sights and smells of home embarrassing and unexpected and hadn’t told her he was hankering. Instead, he’d only said he was worried about his father - whether or not he was eating correctly and if he was lonely. Lydia had been full of MIT and the new world that was unfolding before her. She was meeting so many different people and loved her studies. She’d eventually declared a Physics major and said it was the right decision. She didn’t seem to be missing Beacon Hills at all. They had talked about it a little. She knew Kira had come back; they seemed to be in touch. It looked like Kira and Scott were on their way to getting back together again though Lydia had raised an eyebrow at that. She also knew that Derek had returned but expressed no interest other than that. Stiles was interested. He had marveled, agog at Scott’s description when they spoke, at the chilled and relatively upbeat Derek that had reappeared; more so than he’d ever been before he’d left with Braeden. Scott had been pleased he was back and hoped he’d be staying to help out. Away at UC Davis much of the time, Scott felt the junior pack needed an extra guiding hand from time to time. Stiles wondered where Derek had been.

Still, it had been a wonderful weekend with Lydia. Stiles had shown her Washington DC. They’d toured the White House, been to the Lincoln Memorial and prowled the local shops and eateries. Lydia had looked glorious. She’d smiled at him and she’d listened and they’d talked. Catching the last of the year’s warm weather, they’d eaten ice cream on the benches along the National Mall and Stiles had tried to persuade her to run for President. She’d said she was aiming higher. All in all, even now Stiles could scarcely believe it was all happening; that Lydia hadn’t changed her mind in the month or so since he’d last seen her back home and decided it was all a mistake; that she'd actually been there, in Washington, visiting him and sharing his bed. He couldn't believe that Lydia was his girlfriend, finally.

Checking the time, he felt he could get a quick gym session in before dinner to get back into his routine. He’d skipped it over the weekend. Perhaps if he used the one at the Lewis pack Lodge he might be able to wrangle his way into an evening meal and avoid cooking or circumvent another trip to the student burger bar. The bustle and noise of a pack dinner might alleviate the flatness he felt after Lydia’s departure too. Pulling on his George Washington University hoodie, he left the university dorm to catch the bus to Georgetown, swinging his gym bag as he walked.

The route to the pack Lodge was familiar. Stiles had been there often enough, either to use the gym or the extensive library for research. He had been determined to continue to contribute to the McCall pack from Washington and help where he could in his regular talks with Scott.

Washington DC was controlled by the Lewis pack. The Lewis pack was an old and powerful one, rivaling the Hale pack apparently and with historic mutual links as Stiles had found out. When it’d been confirmed that Stiles would be going to George Washington, Scott had been anxious and unsure of the etiquette; mainly over whether or not Stiles should let himself be known on arrival. Eventually, they’d decided that being open was the best approach. Stiles wasn’t a werewolf or supernatural so there’d be nothing awkward from that direction and Stiles was confident that he could soothe over any other objections once he was there. He thought the Washington pack might turn out to be a useful ally if relations were established promptly in an amicable and honest way. So, Scott had written in his neatest handwriting, they’d felt a handwritten letter was more polite, to the Lewis pack in Washington. It had turned out to be a good decision. Brianna, the Washington Alpha, was delighted to re-establish relations with the Hale territory and immediately spoke of taking the McCall pack under her wing. She was keen for an alliance with the pack of a True Alpha. Evidently, word about that had leaked out. In turn, Stiles offered to work with their Emissary, Harold, an older gentleman from the Southern states and to carry out any research her pack might need.

When he arrived at the gym Joel, Brianna’s middle son, was lifting weights with Adrian, her younger brother, spotting. Stiles briefly glanced over before ducking into the changing area to put on his gym clothes. Werewolves lifting weights were guaranteed to make him feel inferior. Emerging, he found Adrian sitting on the bench wiping his forehead with a cloth whilst Joel drank down a bottle of water, head thrown back baring his long and elegant neck.

“Lydia gone?” Adrian asked Stiles.

Stiles nodded. “Yep. Looking to be here again though for Fall Break,” he couldn’t help himself grinning. “Well, around Fall Break.”

“It went well then.” That was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” said Stiles.

“You be bringing her here again?”

Stiles shrugged. “If I need to. But it should be okay not to, yes? She’s met Brianna and Harold.”

If there’d been one small cloud during the weekend it’d been when he’d taken Lydia and introduced her to the Lewis pack. He could tell Lydia wasn't keen, however, the pack had expressed interest. Harold had been particularly enthusiastic about meeting a banshee. It was also polite. Lydia was a supernatural and still counted as part of Scott’s pack and so the Alpha of the Washington pack ought to meet her. Lydia had grudgingly understood this and agreed to go. The meeting had been brief with only the essential pleasantries exchanged between Lydia and Brianna and a short period of small talk before Lydia was making signs to leave. Stiles would have liked to have sat with Lydia and Harold for longer and maybe learned a little more about banshee powers. He was curious and he liked the idea of his adopted pack and his girlfriend bonding but Lydia was Lydia and she’d wanted to go. So they’d gone and it was fine. 

“Harry wanted to speak with her more.” Adrian idly flapped the cloth back and forth.

“Well I don’t think she wanted to speak with him. We’ve been through a lot. She’s been through a lot. She just needs a break. She still gets really stressed about everything.”

Stiles had spoken to the Washington pack about the last couple of years in Beacon Hills. They’d been openly shocked. As well as whispers of a True Alpha, rumors had escaped hinting at the dramatic events that had taken place on the Hales' old stomping ground but hearing the stories of the almost constant danger they’d endured first hand lent a greater impact. And hearing of the deaths was sobering – “So many so young”, murmured Brianna, “So many.”

“Don’t worry, we understand,” Adrian stood. “You’ve had it tough. No wonder she has had enough. It’s no problem. But Stiles, stay for dinner.” With a friendly nod, he left taking a light-hearted swipe at Joel as he passed and then touching him on the shoulder. That was one thing Stiles noticed about the Washington pack, their constant small touches cementing the pack bonds. Brianna herself touched more than Scott and much more than Derek ever had.

“Come, I’ll spot for you,” said Joel, gesturing towards the bench. They were alone now.

“No thanks,” said Stiles. “Spotting with a werewolf just doesn’t work.”

Joel laughed and stretched, slowly, and cast a lazy and beautiful smile at Stiles.

“Well, I’ll just go and take a looong shower then,” he said and turned with a lift of a blond eyebrow and what could have been a wink. He moved with an easy grace towards the showers.

Stiles watched and then huffed to himself as he prepared the weights machine. He still didn’t know what to make of Joel. He’d never met anyone like him, well perhaps Danny but then again not like Danny. Danny had never hit on him. Joel hit on him frequently. Stiles didn’t take it with complete seriousness, Joel was an incorrigible flirt with almost anyone, but it flustered him. He could say he was bothered, but he wasn’t sure. He found Joel attractive, irritatingly so Stiles thought, and there was no denying he could be good company.

Stiles worked his way through his lifting routine, mind wandering over past the weekend again. It had been so nice. Perhaps, at last, his life was sorting itself out and the pieces falling into place - he could hope. He was just finishing up when Charlotte, the Alpha’s teenage niece, came running to tell him dinner was almost ready. Stiles wiped down the machine and changed before going upstairs to eat.

********

It was Stiles’ first visit to see Lydia, his one to her two now, and he was excited. The flight from Washington DC to Boston took about an hour and a half but it felt like forever. After he’d landed and made his way to Arrivals, he stood scanning the airport crowd eagerly looking for her. When he finally saw her he waved enthusiastically and she smiled and approached. Lydia’s red hair was tied back, this time, and she wore a simple black dress and cream jacket. Stiles thought she had never looked so lovely. He held her tightly for close on half a minute, burying his nose into her neck. She smelt clean and faintly of flowers.

They caught the bus from the airport into Boston and went onto Lydia’s Residence Hall, a rather magnificent red (or brownish)-brick building. Stiles was impressed.

As Lydia walked through the entrance hall to the lifts on the way to her room, Stiles trailing behind clutching at his backpack, what seemed a never-ending succession of students stopped to greet her. It looked like Lydia had managed to grab the popularity crown here as well as back in her student princess days at Beacon Hills High. As they talked to her, they looked Stiles up and down probably wondering who he was. They must know she had a boyfriend somewhere, perhaps they guessed it was him. Stiles tried not to feel awkward or judged. He wished he’d worn a plain tee shirt instead of one of his graphic tees. He felt scruffy and very much a teenager next to her.

Lydia’s roommate was away for the weekend. Stiles looked at the Lydia-half of the room. It was neat. She’d put up some posters. On one wall, she’d tacked four in a row; striking minimalist images with women's names written across in stark, stylized block capitals.

Noticing him looking, Lydia remarked, “They’re all women scientists who’ve changed the world. They’re good posters, aren’t they? I bought them at the poster fair at the start of the semester to inspire me.”

On the opposite wall there was a framed picture of a mathematical equation which obviously meant something to Lydia and above her bed was a photograph of an observatory on a mountain. Over her desk, there was a noticeboard. Pinned to it were myriad postcards and flyers advertising various student events and activities. There were also photographs of people laughing and fooling around and one of Lydia herself, staring into the camera with one exquisite eyebrow raised holding what looked like an eggplant.

“What was going on there?” asked Stiles, pointing.

“Oh that,” said Lydia dismissively. “My friends. We were just doing stuff, it wasn’t anything. You’ll meet them later.”

“It looks like you’re all having fun.”

“Yes,” said Lydia and then a little pointedly. “It’s so different here.”

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes. Still, from time to time Lydia would dig. “Not that different. We had fun back home too. There was bowling, the cinema, lacrosse...”

“Yes. And then wondering which of us was next going to get their throat torn out or whose name we’d be erasing from our mobile contacts. Great fun.”

Stiles winced a little. “Come on Lyds”, he turned and, dropping his bag, gave her a quick kiss. “We’ve already talked about this again and again. It’s over. Finished. Finito. I want to enjoy this weekend with you. I want to find out everything you’ve been doing and meet all your friends.”

Lydia gave a small rueful smile. “I know, yes. Sorry. You must be tired anyway. I’ll make you a coffee and then we can go down and meet people in the Snack bar. Have a bite to eat.”

This sounded good to Stiles. He fell onto the bed and lay back sprawling. He decided it was time for a distraction.

“Hey, hug first,” he demanded. “Here!”

Lydia crawled into his arms, and Stiles held her. She felt soft, and he ran his hands over her curves.

“I’ll never tire of this,” he murmured. When they’d first got together, they’d spent much of the time holding one another and just being close. Lydia would clutch onto him tightly; even more so after the events that Stiles had missed while he was on his pre-FBI programme over the summer. Lydia only ever alluded to those. Then College had separated them. Lydia’s need to be with him and hold him had lessened when they saw each other subsequently but sometimes the desperation, and the anger, still showed itself. It was almost as if she needed to remind herself that he; that both of them were still alive, defying all that had happened. On Stiles’ part, it was enough to have Lydia with him. 

After 10 minutes or so of cuddles and kisses, Lydia pulled herself away and announced it was time for coffee. She left the room to go to the kitchen.

Stiles sat up and looked at her bookshelves full of books. They were mostly coursework books and non-fiction. He noticed there was a collection of puzzle books to one side. Apparently, Lydia had got into Sudoku in a big way since he’d last seen her. Mind exercises, Stiles thought to himself, not that she needs them. He idly picked one up and flicked through. Fifteen minutes or so later, Lydia returned with their coffee in red MIT mugs. “We have loads in the kitchen. The cupboards are full of them,” she said.

The mugs were attractive. Stiles wondered if he could ‘borrow’ one. They sat for a while, nursing their drinks, and Stiles found his gaze wandering towards the noticeboard again.

“Are you involved in all that?” he asked. “There seems a lot going on.”

“Some of it,” said Lydia. “Extra-curricular activities are really important here. Studies take up a lot of time too of course. It’s pretty intense. I don’t think I’ve ever had to think so much in my entire life. Sometimes I wish I started as a freshman.”

Stiles didn't believe her. “Is that guy you were talking about when you last came down still around? The really clever one?” he asked.

Lydia frowned. “Which one? There are lots of really clever ones. When was I talking about him?”

“Last time in Washington. When we were both going on about how much harder everything was. After we’d gone to that restaurant where I knocked over the glass and spilled coke everywhere.”

“Oh yes,” Lydia laughed. “I can’t remember who but I bet it was Andrew. He’s on my debating team now. He doesn’t hold back. I just love how there are people who can out-think me here. It’s good practice. I can almost feel my mind getting sharper and getting back into gear.”

Stiles gave her a long look.

“Of course, you always came close back in Beacon Hills,” she added indulgently with a pat. Then, with a small toss of her head and brushing down the skirt of her dress, she stood up. “Have you finished your coffee and rested enough? I’m feeling hungry. We can go to the Bar. Or we could walk over to the Student Centre and get some proper food?”

After consideration, Stiles decided he was too hungry for bar snacks, so they walked to the Student Centre to eat there. The Student Centre was busy. Wandering through the Food Market, after a brief conversation they decided on Mexican. Lydia spent a few minutes of frantic messaging when they were seated, then announced that she knew where everyone else was and where they’d all be meeting up. As he bit into his burrito, Stiles felt a little nervous. He was sure that all of Lydia’s new friends would be brilliant, like Lydia, but he wasn’t too sure what they might make of him. On her two visits to Washington, Lydia hadn’t met any of Stiles’ university friends apart from a couple in passing. Partly, mostly, he’d wanted to keep her all to himself; except for the Lewis pack, of course, but that was different. But he also felt anxious about her meeting them. He worried about his ability, in a social setting, to keep her entertained and interested whilst balancing her wants with his friends who felt very different from her and still new. So he’d avoided it.

Lydia’s friends were gathering in a small coffee bar near the center of Cambridge. It was a standard cafe, much like the ones where Stiles and his friends liked to meet in Washington with shabby chic décor and a stripped wooden floor. Lydia made her way towards them towing Stiles behind her and there was a fluster of activity while two chairs were found for them. The group was predominantly male, not surprising since most of Lydia’s friends were from her course or linked to her studies in some way. Lydia seated herself primly and clapped her hands.

“This,” she said, “is Stiles.”

There was a chorus of greetings. Stiles gave a small wave as he sat down, taking a deep breath internally.

To his mild surprise, the evening was fun. Stiles liked Lydia’s friends. They all seemed to be phenomenally well-read and knowledgeable about everything. Half-way through there was a vigorous discussion about a science funding bill going through the Senate. They seemed to expect Stiles to know something about it, living in Washington, and he had to admit that not only had he not heard of it but he hadn’t even been to watch a debate since he’d moved there. It seemed to only amuse them though. Lydia joined in energetically, breaking off for an incomprehensible debate about a paper on the search for a heavy gauge boson that had just been published by CERN.

The conversation shifting, Stiles sipped his coffee listening until he heard someone moving at his side.

“So you’re Stiles.” A blond man with small round glasses was sitting down next to him. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Charles.”

Stiles nodded at him. “Nice place, here. Cosy.”

Charles smiled. “It’s a convenient place to meet. They don’t mind when we get too loud.”

Stiles watched Lydia for a couple of minutes. She was scribbling something down on a piece of paper which she then flourished at one of the girls she was talking with. The girl, who had a mane of frizzy dark hair, was grinning and had folded her arms.

“Lydia has her eyes on the prize,” said Charles, with a laugh. He sounded admiring. “She’s aiming for the top. She could get there too. It’s not easy getting into MIT as a junior. She’s good” He turned to Stiles. “I bet you’re proud of her. When you can keep up. “ Then turning back, “Hey, Lydia!” he called out to her. “Have you sorted out the trip to the Haystack? You are going aren’t you?”

She looked over. “Yes, next weekend. I cleared it.”

“The Haystack?” asked Stiles.

“Yes,” said Charles. “It’s the MIT Observatory. You can book sessions. It’s fun staying over the weekend in a group and just doing stuff. We’ve got some work planned as well for this time. It’s good to get some extra-curricular things going. It’s almost time to start planning internships for the summer, and it’s wise to have lots of outside activities on your CV. It’s pretty competitive for the best ones. I want a good one, so I’m going to get started now. I’ve already signed up for extra classes. I’d like to go abroad.”

“I’m looking for an internship over the summer too,” said Stiles.

“Oh right, what did you say you were studying again?”

“Criminal Justice at George Washington University,“ replied Stiles. “Then perhaps move on to a Masters in Forensic Science or something. I want to join the FBI. I’ve already done a pre-FBI program. It was awesome. I want to try to get in on their College Hiring Scheme. It’s competitive though so I’ll probably end up spending some time as a cop if I don’t get in though that’ll be a good experience anyway, so I’ll have to think about that too. I could do an internship this summer with a police department or see if I can get one with the FBI.”

There was a small silence.

“The FBI?” Charles was raising his eyebrows. “You want to work for them? Or be a cop? That’s different.”

“Er…yes?” said Stiles.

“Oh.” Charles seemed to shake himself, realizing he was perhaps being rude. “That’s cool. Law enforcement. I mean, we all need the police, don’t we? To keep everybody in line. After all, who do you call when your house gets broken into!” He chuckled.

Stiles agreed and gamely chuckled back but felt that, somewhere, he’d missed a step.

Lydia and the girl were laughing now, the girl shaking her head as if admitting defeat. Charles smiled at them. Lydia shuffled her chair towards where they were sitting.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at Stiles.

“Hi” he replied. “Whatsup.”

“We’ve been talking about internships for the summer,” said Charles. “Saying it’s time to start thinking and planning.”

“I know,” said Lydia. ”I already am.”

“I’m going to try for CERN,” said Charles. “It sounds incredible. Someone was saying, who was there last year, that they were walking down a corridor when they heard people arguing. They saw a group watching these two men and they were fighting but fighting with math. They were throwing equations at each other on a board trying to prove points and occasionally someone in the audience would chuck something in themselves. Math was flying everywhere. It was like one big nerdgasm!” He grinned. “And I want to try climbing in the Swiss mountains as well.”

Lydia met his eyes as he finished. “Je pense qu'il sera utile de parler français,” she said. "They speak French there." She tossed her head.

Charles continued to look at her steadily for a couple of seconds and then gave her a wide smile. “Game on,” he said.

“Cool,” interrupted Stiles.” I need to start too. For an FBI internship. I could get a placement with the SFPD but it would be better if I could get an FBI one, so I’d better see what I need to do to look good too.”

“SF. San Francisco?” asked Lydia.

“Yes. The San Francisco Police Department. Or the FBI; there or Sacramento. Both have Field Offices.”

“Why not in Washington?”

Stiles thought for a moment. He hadn’t really considered staying in Washington. “I suppose I could. But I was thinking to go back, to be near home. Because of, well...” He tapered off. It should be obvious why to Lydia who was sitting looking at him. For the first time, it occurred to him that Lydia might not be returning to California for the summer. “I could also see if there was anything up here in Boston,” he said a little uncertainly.

“There might be,” said Lydia.

They walked back, hand in hand. The October night air was chill, and there was a slight breeze. Stiles let himself enjoy walking with Lydia by his side. He noticed a comic shop on a side street that he thought he’d like to seek out the next day, and he peered into a small shop selling board games and painted miniatures. When they got back to the Halls, Lydia made chocolate with marshmallows which they drank sitting on her bed.

“We need to call in on the Boston pack at some point,” said Stiles.

“What?” said Lydia. “Why?”

“Er...,” said Stiles. “Well, it’s sort of polite, yes? I’m from Washington and there’s also Scott. And...there’s, er...I’m visiting you. They do know you’re here don’t they?”

Lydia’s face went blank. “Why should they?”

Again, Stiles thought this was all something that should be obvious. “Lydia. You are supernatural. You’re a banshee. It would be politic to let the local Alpha know if nothing else.”

Lydia was silent. Her shoulders had tensed. She put her drink down and started twisting her hands together. Stiles guessed she wasn’t aware she was doing it.

“No Stiles. I don’t want them to know. I’m a student. I don’t want any of that here with my friends now. Not again. This is not Beacon Hills. It’s been so nice. All I’ve had to think about is my studies and getting on. I’m getting back to normal. And it’s just become clearer and clearer how bad everything was back then. It was absolutely horrible. I don’t know how we bore it. And you know how I feel.”

“I know," Stiles said gently, trying to placate her. “I understand but it’s safer if the Alpha knows, safer for you. He can look out for you just in case. But if you don’t want me to tell him, I won’t. Seriously.” He took her hands in his.

“Might it be awkward if they find out about me and realize that you didn’t say anything when you met with them?”

“Maybe but I don’t care, Lydia, not if it would upset you.” Stiles gave her hands a squeeze.

“Could you tell them about me but not give my name?”

“I could do that.” He gave another squeeze.

“What if they got angry? What if they insisted?”

“Lydia, what is this? I still wouldn’t tell them.” Stiles tried to convince her with his eyes, gazing at her as she looked down at her hands.

“Even if it meant that it would reflect badly on Washington and Beacon Hills?”

“Even if they tortured me. Lydia, I love you. You come first. I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Alright,” Lydia paused and looked directly up at Stiles, squeezing his hands back. “You can tell them I’m here, but I want nothing to do with them. Say I pledge not to get myself involved with anything supernatural that might take place. Say that I wish to remain anonymous, but if you must give my name then give it. They would most likely guess anyway. When do you plan to visit?”

“Whenever is best for you.”

“Go tomorrow morning. I need to return some books to the library, you can do it then. Visit them, get it over with. We can meet for lunch and carry on for the rest of the day.”

Stiles nodded. The atmosphere had turned slightly tense. Stiles wasn't sure how to make it better. “I’ll, er..., wash the cups,” he offered, tentatively. He stood.

“I’m sorry.” Lydia was suddenly in his arms. “I keep doing this but I really am sorry. But I just don’t, I can’t...” She buried her face in his shoulder.

“Shhhh,” whispered Stiles. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to them. It’ll all be fine and then we can just get on and enjoy the rest of the weekend.” He traced small patterns on her back. He could feel Lydia nodding. She pulled herself back and tried to regain equilibrium.

“I think we’re both tired, “she said. “I’ll get the mugs sorted and then we can go to bed. “

The tension had eased, and Stile’s thoughts couldn’t help heading in a certain direction. It must have been obvious or perhaps it was just easy to guess.

“That too, “said Lydia, kissing him softly and resting her forehead gently on his cheek. “I want to feel alive.”

The rest of the weekend passed without further issues. The Boston Alpha had been unperturbed and told Stiles that there was no need for a name if Stiles could vouch for the pledged neutrality. Stiles did so, aware that this was an act of good faith, and added the word of the McCall pack for good measure. He was sure Scott wouldn’t mind.

Lydia showed Stiles around Boston. The weather was crisp and autumnal. She took him to her favorite restaurant for dinner and insisted on paying. She showed him the shops she favored and the museums and galleries that she liked to wander around when it rained or she was at a loose end. Stiles didn’t return to the comic shop as the opportunity didn’t arise. It’d have no more than his local shop in Washington anyway so Stiles didn't mind, he told himself, enjoying a trip to a lingerie store and an antiques market instead.

The center of Boston was compact and full of students. Like at Halls, a fair few seemed to know Lydia. Stiles became used to stopping while she caught up with someone, waiting patiently and holding her bags and sometimes joining in on the conversation. It was all pleasant and very sociable. Boston was nice and, after the first evening, he had checked for an FBI Field Office and found there was one in the city. He contemplated trying for an internship there to be near Lydia but, now, he wondered what she would be doing over the summer and where she might be. He didn’t like to look too deeply at what it might mean or attach too much significance; classic Stilinksi avoidance syndrome perhaps, but even with a casual thought it looked as if they’d be heading in different directions come the next summer.

********

It felt odd being back in Beacon Hills; it was so much smaller after Washington. But it was home. Stiles had made sure to return for Thanksgiving to see his father. He and Scott, who had also come home, immediately made contact; and with Kira too. Scott, with blushes, admitted that they were back together. Stiles was pleased. He liked Kira and thought she and Scott were good together. He looked forward to some double dates.

Malia was out of town, Scott said. He seemed reluctant to talk about her, Stiles wasn’t sure why, apart from saying she’d been helpful over the summer during whatever had gone on. He supposed it because he was with Lydia now, and Scott felt talking about his ex might be awkward for him. Stiles hadn’t managed to catch Malia during his brief return after the pre-FBI course and, he admitted to himself, he wasn’t too sorry she wasn’t around this time either. Looking back on his time with Malia, it hadn’t really been fun, and it hadn’t felt as real as his relationship with Lydia now did. He’d almost been afraid of Malia sometimes; afraid of what she might do to him and what she might say, she knew so little of being human. He’d had to constantly monitor her responses. It had been exhausting, doing that and pretending he wasn’t noticing what she was saying but cringing inside. He couldn’t even remember clearly how it had started or why he’d been with her, aside from teenage desperation and a sense of obligation. And because all the time she’d been trying, and he’d felt none of it was her fault.

What he was most interested in was meeting Derek again especially after Scott’s description. When Derek had left, Stiles had assumed he was gone for good. He knew from his father that Derek had started working in the Sheriff’s Office and was around. Finally, he’d bumped into him unexpectedly just buying groceries. He’d first noticed two girls making a fuss in the aisle. He’d glanced over and there was a familiar figure, viciously prodding oranges, studiously ignoring everyone around him. Derek looked good. Stiles had never been blind to Derek’s attractiveness. There had been a time when he’d had a crush on him alongside his one on Lydia, right at the start, but as they grew to know each other, it had faded; or rather been managed. Derek was straight and therefore would be unable to return Stiles’ affections even under the optimum conditions. So Stiles, ruthlessly, clamped down on his feelings (except on the darkest and longest of nights when his willpower was lowest and his libido high) and instead just allowed himself to appreciate the view from time to time and enjoy their growing companionship. He might even call it a friendship. And now, of course, he had Lydia, his other big crush, so everything had worked out well; he could look at himself back then and smile.

Scott had said Derek had changed and become more relaxed. Stiles wondered at the truth of this; Scott had always been overly generous about people. It was true Derek had mellowed a little before he’d left with Braeden, but Stiles had always thought that anger and tension had never been far away.

“Derek?” he tried. Derek must have both heard and scented him but continued prodding. Was he ignoring him? Surely he would have already looked up otherwise?

“Derek?” Stiles tried again.

Then, Derek stopped poking and turned.

“Stiles!” he exclaimed and looked openly delighted.

His pleasure took Stiles aback slightly. “Hi,” he replied, a little more weakly than Derek’s enthusiasm deserved he immediately thought.

“I heard you were back in town from John. It’s good to see you.” Stiles blinked. It sounded odd, Derek on easy first name terms with his father.

Derek did seem relaxed; pleasant and smiling. It suited him. Stiles nodded, “Dad said? Yes, for Thanksgiving.”

Standing in the aisle, they began a polite conversation. Stiles told Derek a little about Washington and about his studies. The Washington pack had sent their greetings. They held his family in high regard. Derek mentioned that he was doing some work with his father, which Stiles knew, and was intending to become a police officer. He alluded to doing something a little more which he would discuss later. He’d been spending time drifting, seeing America, on his own after Braeden left. It’d been good. They finished on amicable terms after agreeing to go halves on a 2 for 1 beef burger offer and with Stiles confirming that he’d be attending the pack meeting at Derek’s apartment (another loft) on Saturday, the last evening of the Thanksgiving break. Everyone would be there apparently. Stiles found himself looking forward to it. He and Lydia would go.

Lydia had seemed reluctant to go to the actual pack meeting when Stiles mentioned it, suggesting that they just turn up later, but she had eventually agreed. They’d spent the day in the Shopping Mall with Scott and Kira. Stiles suspected that it was only their presence at the meeting, especially Kira’s, that persuaded her to go. He wasn’t sure what he felt about that but didn’t spend much time wondering. He was still keen to see the others.

Whatever had been going on in her mind, now they were all sitting together in Derek’s living room. Lydia sat quietly on Derek’s large black leather sofa, snug against one of the arms. Stiles sat next to her, looking around the room. It was comfortable and well furnished with large windows. The walls were painted a discrete and tasteful light grey. The floor was varnished wooden veneer with a few colorful rugs scattered here and there. There was a large television set with a games console underneath and bookshelves full of books along one side. Derek had put some framed film posters up which surprised Stiles, not having taken Derek for a movie buff. He could see the kitchen through a doorway opposite. It looked sleek and modern.

Scott was chairing. Kira was taking notes. The younger pack members, Liam, Mason, Hayden and Corey nudged and giggled amongst themselves as they got comfortable on a pile of cushions by one wall. Derek lent comfortably against another by a window, occasionally looking out into the evening.

Stiles spoke about the Washington pack; how large it was, how helpful they were and about their proposition for the establishment of formal diplomatic relations with Beacon Hills. Stiles felt that an alliance with such a recognized and influential pack as Washington would only be good. He told Derek that they had opened up their home for a visit; they’d like to see Derek again. Derek said he remembered visiting as a boy. He said nothing else and Stiles didn’t push.

There was then a rundown through all the latest news from Beacon Hills. Things were relatively quiet. Liam said that people had reported seeing a light in the sky at night. There were variations, some described it as comet-like with flames while others thought it closer to ball lightning. There was a discussion. Stiles thought aliens, Kira thought spirits and Mason said marsh gas. They decided to continue monitoring the story. Mason would keep an eye on the Beacon Hills Facebook group where people had been posting sightings.

The meeting finished with a delivery of Chinese takeaway and a feast before everyone set off home. Stiles and Lydia had agreed to spend the final evening at their respective homes. Stiles regretted this now. She’d been quiet all evening and hadn’t contributed and he wanted to be with her. As the others left, he nuzzled and stroked her wanting to go to hers regardless, but Lydia was firm and reminded him that he’d promised his father he’d be home. After all, it wasn’t long until Christmas when they’d both be back again. After more kisses, Stiles reluctantly let her go and went back in for a final word with Derek.

Derek was tidying up. Stiles went to help him.

“I see it worked out with Lydia in the end,” Derek‘s lips twitched. He had probably heard them.

“It did,” said Stiles. “I still can’t quite believe it.”

“You deserve it. Both of you. Sometimes what you want does happen,” replied Derek.

Stiles picked up a foil tray and started scraping food remnants into the bin. “What about you? You seem well. “

Derek shrugged. “Things are good.”

And they talked again. This time it was real talk, not the small talk of the grocer’s store. Stiles found it was strangely easy to open up, in a way that talking with Derek never had been before. They talked about their lives and hopes. Stiles talked more about Lydia; his love for her, his incredulity that she loved him back and his worry for her – how the past summer and everything else seemed to have affected her. Derek said that his time with Braeden had freed him and helped him move on. He could talk to her. She’d known death too. She had said that she didn’t want anything long-term so the relationship hadn’t been serious for either of them. Derek had been able to relax and appreciate the experience of being with someone who wasn’t using him, who right from the start made everything they wanted clear. Braeden had left for work in Africa. Derek had continued to roam. He’d visited other packs and explored different cities. He’d hooked up and allowed himself, for the first time since his parents died, to enjoy physical relationships without guilt and self-destruction being at the core. He was comfortable with his body and himself once more. Or at least was well on the way, he felt.

Stiles couldn’t help feeling a little jealous thinking of this new freewheeling Derek, working his way around America and moving from bed to bed, but he could tell that it had done Derek good.

“So, you left a trail of broken hearts then, all through America?” he teased.

“Nah,” said Derek.

Everyone involved with him knew the score. It was just for fun. He’d particularly enjoyed his time with men, he said, smiling distantly at the memory. It’d been a while; not since New York with Laura. He’d met some beautiful ones. It’d been mutual and meaningless on both sides, purely physical.

Stiles couldn’t help but startle at this. This was news; Derek with men and Derek getting purely physical with beautiful men. That conjured up images that Stiles shouldn’t be contemplating as a man in a happy and permanent relationship. He mentally shook himself.

“I didn’t know you liked men,” he said, trying to be casual and show that he wasn’t bothered and that his sixteen-year-old self wasn’t fist-punching the air. He hoped Derek’s werewolf senses hadn’t picked anything up. By now clearing up had finished and they were both leaning against the kitchen cabinets, talking. Derek had put on a pot of coffee to brew.

“It never came up,” said Derek dryly. “Boom boom. Except that it did. Obviously. Many times.”

Stiles gaped at him, horrified, his train of thought broken perhaps thankfully. “Derek, that was terrible,” he said.

Derek grinned at him, unrepentant.

Stiles shook his head with wonder. “You’ve changed,” he said and he liked it. Nuevo Derek was... well, he was likable. “Though evidently not for the better with lines like that,” he continued. “Can we go back to grumpy and rude please?”

Derek flipped him off. “It’s just I feel I have a proper future now,” he said. “I’m doing okay here. Your Dad is supporting me to be a Deputy, and I’m working with him officially. I’ve started the training. And I’ve been speaking with McCall. He has an idea. He wants to form an FBI team looking into unsolved cases, ones that we know involve the supernatural. He’ll bring me in as a consultant. All I need to do is get some qualifications.” He started pouring out the coffee. “This is decaf for you by the way, at this time of night.”

Stiles pouted.

“You see I need skills to make it plausible. I can speak Spanish of course. And I’m working on qualifications in psychology and counseling, “Derek continued. “So, I’ll be knowledgeable in psychological profiling and neuro-linguistic programming and I can come in with those as an experienced officer.”

“Counseling,” said Stiles, picking up on that. “You’re training to be a counselor? As in tell me your deepest thoughts and let me help you counseling?”

“Yes,” said Derek a trifle defensively.

“Derek, you’re counseling people, all empathy and touchy-feely?”

“Yes,” said Derek again. “I’m very good at it.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“Okay,” said Derek. “I’m rubbish at it.” He flung his hands up. “I can’t get into people’s heads. I flunk the roleplay. My tutor said I was silent to the point of taciturn in my classes. I just don’t get it. How do you lot do it!”

Stiles found this hilarious and laughed though he felt perhaps he shouldn’t.

“It’s true!” said Derek with indignation. “I’m really worried. When it’s real I can tell by scent, or sometimes body language. I can hear when people lie. Roleplay I can’t because none of it is true. I need to pay attention and listen. I never realized before how much I ignore what people say and what they do. I smell and hear their heartbeats.”

Stiles found this even more hilarious and actually rather adorable. It was so Derek. “We’ve both been talking tonight and we’ve got really deep,” he said trying to be serious. The poor man was troubled.

“Yes, but you’re Stiles. I know you. You don’t really count.”

“Should I be offended there?” said Stiles grinning. “Okay. Look,” he continued, reaching out and holding onto Derek’s arms in a way he hoped was firm and reassuring. “At Christmas, I’ll be here, we can practice. We can practice anytime.” Derek looked at him mournfully with those whatever- color- they- are eyes he had. Stiles had never put a name to it. “We can roleplay until your head falls off. Oh, and I need to know if you'll be visiting the Washington pack? I have to report back to them. Let them know. They seriously want you to come.” He gave Derek an encouraging little shake.

Derek freed himself from Stiles and straightened. He thought for a while, his head on one side. “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “You can tell them yes. I think it will be good to see them again, after all these years. I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow.”

Stiles grinned.

********

Derek flew into Washington just as Stiles’ classes were ending on the 12th December. They planned to leave for Beacon Hills together on the 18th.

Derek was to stay in the Lodge. Stiles met him at the airport and took him straight there, introducing him to Brianna and leaving them to make conversation while he took Derek’s bags up to his room. Going back down he bumped into Joel, and they stood talking for a while in the hall. Joel had just moved on to discussing a new bar that had opened that he wanted to try when Stiles saw his attention suddenly shift to looking over his shoulder, and he knew Derek had come up behind him. He watched as Joel’s gaze sharpened and he moved; it was almost a prowl, past Stiles, breaking off their conversation. His nostrils were flared, scenting. Stiles turned. Derek had stopped. He was looking at Joel, steadily into his eyes, and as Joel slunk round Derek eying him, Derek slowly moved, in turn, to keep facing him, his expression unreadable. It was, actually, incredibly hot. Stiles had a brief image of the two of them, Derek and Joel together, naked, and had a sudden rush of intense arousal.

Both turned to look at him. Stiles felt himself blush. Joel smirked and raised an eyebrow. Derek remained impassive. The heat of the previous moment was broken.

“Er...this is Derek,” Stiles managed. “Derek, Joel.”

Joel looked at Derek again and grinned, his teeth bared. Derek gave him a slow nod and slowly licked at his lower lip.

“Um...I’ll take you to your room,” said Stiles, grabbing Derek’s arm and starting to drag him off, hoping he’d come with him. To Stiles’ relief, he allowed himself to be pulled and they left, heading towards the stairs. Stiles could feel Joel staring after them.

“That was Joel,” he said unnecessarily.

Derek was looking thoughtful. “Yes. Joel,” he said, slowly, as if tasting the name.

Stiles felt inexplicably unsettled. “He’s often a bit like that.”

“He’s like that with you?”

Stiles nodded. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Derek thought a bit longer. “I’m not going to play where there could be repercussions,” he said, looking at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

After that, Stiles half expected Derek to be haunting the local nightclubs and bars every evening picking up whoever he wanted. Instead, he spent his time either with the pack or with Stiles. The pack gave him a warm welcome, remembering Derek as a boy and remembering his family. Stories were told. Stiles noted how Derek could talk about them now; it gave him a warm feeling to see how far he’d come emotionally. Stiles and Derek spent one memorable evening lying on Derek’s bed, reminiscing on mutual childhood memories after an evening when Brianna had got out a photo album showing pictures of a young Derek playing on a lawn with his sisters and the Lewis children. Stiles didn’t often talk about his mother and he knew Derek had rarely talked about his, or the rest of his family. It was intimate and it was comforting for them both..

Joel continued to express an interest in Derek which Derek casually fended off with a practiced air. His flirtations also became more blatant towards Stiles. However, Stiles recognized it for what it was, a game they were all playing and allowed himself to be amused and to tease Joel. With Derek there, Stiles began to enjoy experiencing Joel’s attraction to him however shallow it was. He used it to play with and feel his own sensuality and threw Joel’s flirtatious words back at him with increasing confidence while Derek rolled his eyes. He and Derek would laugh about it afterward and talk about Joel’s pursuit of the two of them. Did he lie in bed at night and think of them both, Derek and Stiles together, with desire? Stiles wondered. In spite of himself, he secretly reveled a little in the thought.

When Derek wasn’t there, Joel eased back.

As Stiles promised, he practiced roleplaying with Derek. Derek was right. He didn’t listen to what was said. He didn’t think what said through and he was unobservant when it came to anything that didn’t involve his immediate senses. As Stiles sat in front of him, he complained that Stiles didn’t smell what he was saying, his heartbeat was too steady and Stiles spoke nonsense. Stiles patiently pretended to be a procession of tearful witnesses, surly suspects, and duplicitous dealers and tried to get Derek to focus.

“Listen to what I’m saying,” he’d say. “Remember words mean things.”

And Derek would screw up his nose and try to guess why Stiles had said what from his words alone. They spent time watching and listening to people in bars, restaurants and shops working out who was with whom trying to do what and why; something Stiles had often done on his own but for Derek was new. It was like a game. Stiles decided to call it Inference and it became their game. Derek’s observation and listening skills improved and his guesses became more accurate and followed human logic so Stiles felt they made progress.

They hadn’t discussed it at Thanksgiving, but Stiles had heard from before that Derek had become an Evolved Wolf and he was curious. He didn’t know what that meant. He asked Derek and Derek said he wasn’t sure either. He said he felt much the same as he ever did, although maybe stronger. The Washington Pack, and in particular Harold, had become excited when Derek admitted it; apparently, it was rare. Derek and Stiles retreated to the library to spend time researching it and writing up what they found, which was very little. Amy, Brianna’s human daughter-in-law, brought them hot chocolate as they pored over books and looked out at the first snow of the winter, a scattering too light for snowmen or sledging to Stiles’ disappointment. Derek shifted into his full wolf form for him which seemed to be a part of Evolved Wolfhood, though Derek said his mother had had the ability too. Stiles saw his eyes were now gold; the original brilliant blue, linked to the death of Paige and a mark of Derek’s old pain and guilt, gone. Stiles was moved but stayed silent.

They sat and talked about the lights in the Beacon Hill sky. There had been further reports but no conclusions had been reached. However, Melissa had noticed something disturbing at the hospital. People had been dying, of course not unusual in itself, but in certain cases, the deaths had been too soon. All the patients involved had been seriously ill and were considered to be dying, so the rest of the staff had thought nothing untoward had taken place but Melissa with her nursing instincts and supernatural experience had felt that something was wrong.

Maybe the lights were connected in some way? Many of the sightings had been towards the hospital, between there and the preservation. Could it be spirits of the dead or Ghosts? Stiles thought it sounded like a job for a banshee. They agreed, he would bring in Lydia at Christmas. As they sat and puzzled together, it felt like old times to Stiles before Derek had left Beacon Hills except now Derek smiled. He still wasn’t one for talk, but Stiles took pleasure in talking enough for the two of them and making Derek growl at him to ‘just catch a breath Stiles, please.’

Just before they were due to leave, there was an evening with some of Stiles’ friends and friends of friends; a celebration of Christmas with pizza and laser tag. Stiles brought Derek along and he impressed them. “You never told me you knew an Abercrombie model!” they said to him. “Is this the gorgeous ‘Lydia’ you’ve been talking about? A boy? You didn’t need to pretend! We don't care and we're happy for you.” While Stiles denied it and put them right, Derek flushed and his ears went pink.

Playing laser tag, with no provocation at all as Stiles pouted later, Derek on the opposite side decided that his number one mission was to hunt down Stiles, and only Stiles, at all costs. Everyone else was collateral damage. As a werewolf, Derek had a built-in cheating system, and Stiles didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t take long for the rest of his team to realize that wherever Stiles ran and wherever he hid Derek would, somehow, find him and root him out, taking out all those around him almost as an afterthought. He was an unstoppable force. The conclusion was logical; Derek was The Terminator. The old movie was true which meant that Stiles, of course, had to be Sarah Connor. Stiles didn’t mind; Sarah Connor was kick ass.

Stiles thought that it was probably one of the best weeks he had ever had. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just mild Stiles/Lydia here and a little underage drinking

It was Christmas Day in the Stilinski household. In the hall, Stiles checked that the container full of food was properly sealed before putting it in the hold-all with the others. His father was dozing on the sofa in the front room, full and content. Melissa was half-watching some Christmas special on the television while playing a game on her tablet with Chris, over for his first and probably not last McCall-Stilinski Christmas. Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure about that relationship what with Scott and memories of Allison but was prepared to let it pass; both seemed happy.

Stiles had wanted Derek to join them for Christmas dinner. He knew he’d be alone on Christmas Day. Cora was still in South America and Malia was elsewhere; with friends, Scott had said. At the start of the holidays, Derek had sat and worked out regular Bootcamp sessions over Christmas for them both; to get them FBI fit, he stated, though Stiles had to admit that they were more for him than for Derek. As they ran through the preserve and did press-ups on the forest floor, Stiles getting himself covered in leaf debris and mud, Stiles had badgered Derek about coming over, but Derek had continued to refuse. They’d finally compromised; Stiles would drop some Christmas dinner over at Derek’s before he went to see Lydia.

Stiles had only seen Lydia properly the previous day when everyone had got together for a Christmas Eve party in a local restaurant. She’d returned to Beacon Hills the day before and Stiles, after meeting her at the airport, had picked her up just to drive her over to her house. There hadn’t been much chance for conversation.

He called to his father that he was off out to go to Derek’s and received a grunted acknowledgment. One of the things that had pleased him coming home was seeing how well Derek and his father got on and how much his father was helping him prepare to join the police department. Stiles had mentioned Derek’s future plans with McCall, and his father had given them a wary approval. He said that McCall seemed genuine in his desire to contribute and do right by Scott and, as an extension, his friends. So far, he’d proved it with Stiles, getting him onto the pre-FBI course.

Stiles had also told his father that he planned to join McCall and Derek in the proposed FBI team, though he hadn’t told either of them yet. It all fitted together. “I’ll try for the Graduate Entry Scheme, Dad,” he said. He had it all planned out. “If I don’t make it, I’ll join the police, in San Francisco or Sacramento to get big city experience, and just keep trying. Then once I’m in I can join McCall and Derek.”

His father hesitated for a beat then said, “That sounds good but there are places outside of California, further away, you know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you and I’m pleased that you want to stay close, but there is a whole world out there and-”

“Dad,” interrupted Stiles. “Don't try and get me to leave Beacon Hills. I know you keep trying.”

“No,” said his father. “I wouldn’t bother anymore. Though I must admit the idea of you getting far away and safe is attractive. The idea of you being in Washington was attractive though of course, you went and straight away got yourself involved with the werewolf pack there. But it’s also; you are young. You have an entire world out there to explore. Don’t tie yourself down, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “What I want to do isn’t tying myself down. And I’m going to be just as safe as you ever are. You’re a cop, Dad.”

“That’s true enough,” said his father grudgingly.

“And Dad, I want to stay here. I have roots here, “Stiles continued urgently, “You’re important, Scott is important; he isn’t going anywhere. Beacon Hills is his now and he has to stay whatever anyone else does. After everything, I can’t just leave him. And then, with Derek and McCall, I’ll be protecting more people beyond Beacon Hills, beyond California; against things that most people can’t even imagine.” Stiles’ voice began to rise. “I can’t let it go to waste. All that's happened to me and all I've learned. I need to do this. Otherwise, why am even I here!”

His father blinked at him, “Way melodramatic, kiddo,” he said. “I get it. But son, I have to ask this, how does Lydia fit into this? What does she want? Does she want to stay in Beacon Hills? You’re in a relationship. It’s not just about you anymore. Isn't she talking about going abroad?”

Stiles frowned. He and Lydia had talked about their studies, and he now knew Lydia wanted to spend the summer in Europe. But he also knew that he loved her and wanted to be with her.

“I know, Dad,” he replied. “I know.”

But now, the beneficent Santa Stilinski, standing in the hallway, had Christmas food to deliver and said girlfriend to visit. He took his jeep, oh how he’d missed it in Washington, to drive over to Derek’s apartment, the bag of food containers carefully balanced on the passenger seat. The roads were empty, and he got there quickly. 

Derek had put up a small Christmas tree in his loft and put the handful of Christmas cards he’d been given on top of a bookshelf. He’d put some tinsel round the kitchen door handle and draped some Christmas lights over a pot plant.

“Festive,” remarked Stiles handing Derek the food containers out of the bag. “You can heat the food in the microwave.”

Derek put the contents of one of the containers on a plate. “Thank you,” he said. “And pass on my thanks to John and Melissa too.”

“Oh yes,” Stiles remembered. His father had given him a card to give to Derek as well. He took it out of the bag and handed it to Derek. Derek gave a little smile and an exasperated shake of his head and opened it. Stiles was curious but managed to keep quiet and not crane his head too obviously to look. Derek already had had his Christmas card from them, and Stiles didn’t know why his father was giving Derek a second. The picture on the front of this one didn’t seem festive; Stiles saw boats on a lake. But Derek didn’t tell Stiles what it for. He simply placed it carefully, on its own, on a side table. Stiles decided not to mention it.

After the bag had been emptied, Stiles felt bad leaving Derek on his own and was reluctant to go, even though it was Derek’s choice. Derek seemed to sense this. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, gently steering Stiles out. “We can go for a run.”

Stiles brightened. “We can go for a special Christmas coffee after... one with cream and cinnamon and chocolate.”

“Cream, cinnamon, and chocolate. I don’t know where that comes into our fitness plan,” said Derek reproachfully.

Stiles flung his head back. “Good grief. It's Christmas! Whose gulag are you running and why am I trapped there?” he grumbled.

Lydia’s house was noisy and full of people when Stiles arrived. It looked like half of her family had descended on her and her mother for Christmas. Stiles had originally hoped to just meet with Lydia to have some quiet time, the two of them together. Lydia’s mom had other ideas. No sooner had Stiles stepped into the hallway than he found himself holding a plate with a slice of fruitcake, sitting on a sofa surrounded by Lydia’s relatives being cross-questioned. Unlike the McCall-Stilinski Christmas where jeans, comfortable jogging bottoms, festive jumpers and baggy tee-shirts were the order of the day, the Martin household obviously liked to dress up for Christmas. People looked smart. Lydia sat on a chair to one side in a full fifties style skirt with a neat little top looking apologetic while he told them about college and his plans; hopefully getting accepted by the Collegiate Hiring Initiative and joining the FBI. Everyone was politely impressed and agreed that his father must be proud: Stiles had such a sense of civic duty, it must be inherited.

“Young people are so ambitious these days,” said Mrs. Martin. She wore a pair of long, ornate earrings that caught the light as she moved her head. “Lydia wants to spread her wings too. She’s applying to study in Europe over the summer. Are you thinking of going anywhere?”

“I was thinking of an internship in San Francisco or Sacramento,” said Stiles.

There was a general cooing and chuttering of interest.

“Will you be staying locally then? Do you want to?“ asked Mrs. Martin. “Is that safe?”

Stiles knew what she was meaning and said nothing.

“We’re so proud of Lydia,” someone else said, an aunt maybe, with elaborately coiffured hair, red like Lydia’s. “She’s completely brilliant. So much potential.”

“Lydia loves it in Boston,” said a large man with blond hair and a carefully trimmed beard to Stiles’ left. “MIT is such a good university. One of the best. To get in there as a junior is exceptional. Are you enjoying your freshman year Stiles?”

Stiles felt a little patronized as he sat there although no-one had said anything directly, he thought. He shuffled his feet and held onto his plate trying not to speak with his mouth full. He wished he’d brushed his hair before he left.

Afterwards, Lydia walked him to the front door. “Sorry about subjecting you to the family like that,” she said.

Stiles shrugged. It’d been important to meet them; a boyfriend’s duty and all that. He could bear it. At least none of them were trying to kill him. He nuzzled into her and could feel Lydia smiling.

“After tomorrow, we can make sure it’s just us,” he said into her shoulder as she stroked his hair. “Scott and Kira are really keen to meet up, but at night it will just be us alone to enjoy some true sweeeeet lurve together!”

He looked up and they kissed, softly at first but then Stiles grew more insistent. Lydia gently pushed him away. “Hey, “she whispered. “Not here. In a couple more days…”

Stiles groaned and she gave him another little shove. “Off with you, go, shoo!”

Reluctantly Stiles packed up his libido and set off back home.

*******

The following days were full of Scott and Kira and Lydia, and the following nights were full of just Lydia. Stiles felt blissed out.

Derek kept his distance. They went running a couple of times and Stiles had texted him a few more inviting him along with the group, but he made it clear that he felt he’d be a third (or fifth wheel) if he joined them. He’d find other things to do. Stiles was aware that that included meeting up with his father.

A couple of times, Stiles and Scott spent the afternoon playing video games while Lydia and Kira went shopping. There was a cinema visit and a trip to the Bowling Alley. They didn’t talk much about anything odd going on, however, one day while the girls were out, Scott mentioned that Melissa thought that there had been another death. Scott had checked on the Beacon Hills Facebook and, sure enough, lights had been seen again. Stiles was puzzled. He thought that Lydia should have picked something up since there seemed to be a death connection, but she hadn’t said anything.

That evening he brought it up with Lydia, both sitting on her bed. They spent all their nights together at Lydia’s house. She had said Stiles’ bedroom still looked like it belonged to a high school student and refused to stay there. Stiles had admitted she had a point. As he spoke, Lydia went quiet and started to fiddle with the edge of the quilt. Finished, Stiles waited.

“Stiles, I can’t,” she said eventually.

Stiles frowned. “You can’t? Why not? Is there something stopping you?” he asked becoming anxious.

Lydia shook her head, looking down into her lap. “No. No, it’s not that. I just can’t. Not anymore. “

Stiles was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you.” Lydia took a breath. She stood up and went over to the window, parting the curtains to look out with her back to Stiles.

”Back in September, I was in my room at MIT. Lucy, you know my roommate, was with her boyfriend for the night. I went to bed. Then I found myself, awake, in my nightdress. I was down by the cycle path. And there was a girl. She was dying. There was a bike on its side just by her. I think she’d been hit by a car. She looked at me. Right at me. And I screamed. Banshee screamed,” Lydia shivered. “And then people were coming.”

Lydia turned to look at Stiles, her gaze intense. “I can still see her now, looking at me, she knew she was going to die. And I thought I can’t bear this. All this death. Is this what I am? And I was there, in my nightclothes, and people were asking me what on earth I was doing there. I made up some bullshit about hearing brakes and looking out of the window, and they were talking about witness statements and what did I see. I had to make everything up, and I thought this can’t go on. How can I go about my life with all this happening or about to happen at any moment? This is just awful. It’s impossible.

“So I contacted Meredith, you remember her? The banshee in Eichen House. And I said I need to block it all off somehow. To stop it. She told me there was a ritual but it blocked everything, I couldn’t pick and choose the powers I wanted. I said fine, I’d take that. She told me she knew a Druid who could perform the right ritual. So I went to her and she did it, it was only last month, and that was that. My powers are still there but I can’t feel them, I can’t sense anything.”

Stiles stared at her. Lydia gave a hopeless little shrug. Her lower lip started to tremble a little “I just couldn’t. Not anymore. Not again. That girl.”

“It’s okay Lyds,” Stiles whispered softly, standing and going over to her. “It’s okay. I understand.” He took her in his arms and she collapsed against him. “We can find another way I’m sure. It’s not a problem.”

He felt Lydia shaking her head against his shoulder. “Why do you even want to get involved? We’ll be off again in a week. “

“Look, we don’t have to,” said Stiles. “Not if you don’t want to. We can leave it to the others. It’s okay. I’m happy to spend the rest of the time with you. We won’t talk about anything weird from now on. Right?”

Lydia nodded, now slightly tearful. “Thank you. It’s just, well, we come back here and it’s everything all over again…and then it happening in Boston…”

“I know, I know, “ Stiles murmured. “I just…You’re okay aren’t you with it blocked? Your head won’t explode or anything? You’re not getting headaches or dizzy spells?”

“No, “said Lydia. “It feels good. It’s like turning off the volume on a poorly tuned radio that you can just about hear in another room. I didn’t know how much it was always there before, a constant awareness. And I feel I have control now. It’s back on my terms. The ritual can be reversed but it will be up to me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “That’s one thing about the supernatural. Consent doesn’t seem to play much of a part. I thought Peter was bad, right at the start, but all that was pretty typical.”

“Okay then,” said Stiles. “I’ll just tell everyone you don’t want to be involved if they ask. Do you mind people knowing?”

“I’d rather it wasn’t announced.”

“Alright, “said Stiles, rubbing small circles on her back. “Just on a need to know then. I’ll just tell Scott?”

“Yes, and Kira. I was going to tell her anyway.”

“Fine,” Stiles smiled. “I’m glad she’s back. She’s a good friend.”

“Yes. She is.” Lydia snuggled against him again. Stiles held on to her. He couldn’t deny it. What she had done had disturbed him. Her banshee powers were a part of her, and for Lydia to reject them with such resolve shook him though he found some consolation in it being reversible. Stroking her hair, soft under his fingers, he understood her need to regain control but he wished that she could have found another way.

*******

Stiles woke up, stretched lazily then realized with a jolt that Lydia was awake too and looking directly at him. With a smile, he rolled over to her and kissed her.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes,” said Lydia.

“Is that a good thing? Were you thinking how extremely good-looking and awesome I am? Or just that my hair looks a mess when I’m sleeping?”

“I was just thinking about you.” Lydia sat up, the sheet slipping off her breasts. Stiles gazed at the pink of her nipples. “We need to hurry, we’re due over at the loft soon. We’ve slept late.”

“It was a nice night though,” said Stiles, drowsily. “Thank you. Worth oversleeping.”

Lydia looked down at him. “It was,” she said. She gently ran her finger down Stiles’ cheek. “Come on. Let’s get ready.”

Stiles watched her get up and walk across the room, small and perfectly formed in her nakedness. He ran his eyes over her smooth backside as she pulled on her knickers and headed for the bathroom, wearing a shirt for decency.

Stiles was content. He got up himself and rummaged for his clothes where he’d dropped them last night and took a clean pair of underpants out of his backpack. He stood and regarded himself in Lydia’s dressing table mirror. His hair was ruffled; his moles looked particularly prominent this morning and he was too pale. He wrinkled his nose. A framed photograph of Lydia stood by on a shelf; she looked poised, pretty and perfect. Stiles looked at it. “Stiles,” he said to himself, “You’re a lucky, lucky man.”

Lydia came back into the room and started looking through her wardrobe. Stiles went to get washed. When he returned, Lydia was dressed and brushing her hair out, rich red and lustrous down her back. Stiles organized himself, in turn, and then they were both ready for the New Year’s Eve celebrations at Derek’s.

Everyone else was already there when they arrived. Liam and Hayden were mixing up punch in a large bowl. Mason and Corey were whispering at one another and not doing very much. Scott was inflating and putting up balloons directed by Kira. He couldn’t see Derek.

“Hey!” Scott exclaimed seeing Stiles and Lydia. “Bro hug!”

They bro-hugged. Kira waved at Lydia.

“Is Derek in the kitchen?” asked Stiles, “Or is he skulking upstairs somewhere?”

“He went to get fireworks,” said Scott. “We’re going to have indoor ones. Sparklers!”

“Cool,” said Stiles. “What can we do to help?”

“We’ve done most of it,” replied Scott. “You’ve probably arrived at just the right time. Late. Heavy night was it? “ He wiggled his eyebrows.

Stiles grinned. “A gentleman never tells.”

Lydia had joined Kira and was already deep in conversation. Stiles and Scott decided to leave them to it and instead go and see what they could find to do in the kitchen. The fridge was full of party snacks, and there were two bottles of champagne in the bottle rack.

“Do you think that’s for us too?” asked Stiles

“Reckon so. I can hear Derek, we can ask him.”

If Scott could hear him, that put his arrival at a couple of minutes yet. Stiles wandered into the living room and stood idly looking around. The tree was still there but now looked a little lopsided. He saw Derek’s cards on the bookshelf including the one from his father. Derek must have moved it. Stiles slid over towards it and hazarded a peek. ‘This is not a Christmas card, best wishes’ was all his father had written. Edging away again, Stiles was none the wiser what it was for but then, two or three minutes later, the front door opened, and Derek came in with a large box of indoor fireworks, and the card was forgotten. Stiles beamed at him. It seemed to have been ages since they’d last seen one another.

“Is the champagne for us?” Scott was asking eagerly.

“Yep. In moderation, “ said Derek, putting the box down and starting to sort through it.

“Well we won’t be able to drink much if Stiles’ Dad is here anyway!”

“Nor your Mom,” returned Stiles, ”though if Chris Argent is coming...maybe she won’t notice!”

“Oh God,” groaned Scott as Stiles laughed.

By mid-evening, the other guests had started to arrive; Stiles’ father first, then Scott’s Mom, Chris Argent, and Parrish. Parrish came with an armful of police training books which he dumped on Derek’s coffee table and suggested he read through. He seemed to be taking Derek under his wing, as he proceeded to spend much of the rest of the evening giving him salient points of advice about police methodology and training hints in a very fatherly tone. Derek took it with good grace.

The Sheriff, Melissa and Chris talked together. The younger pack members ran around excitedly until Derek put on some music, and they started to dance; in between arguing over the next track. The genre of music playing veered wildly. Stiles and Scott hung around by the food table, picking at crisps and sausage rolls.

“Have you found out anything more about the Lights?” asked Stiles.

“Thought you weren’t interested. It was pretty obvious you didn’t want to talk about it yesterday,” said Scott carefully picking a sausage roll apart to eat the sausage meat separately.

“We were bowling Scott. Lydia was there. Scott, that is gross.“

Scott shrugged, cramming the remaining pastry into his mouth. “Well, we haven’t. Apart from, we still think the lights and the deaths might be linked because they all happen on the same evenings. Which we knew already.”

“So you haven’t found out anything else. Sounds like a bit of the old Stilinski detective work is going to be needed.” Stiles cracked his knuckles.

Scott frowned. “I suppose so.“ He looked significantly towards Lydia and Kira.

“I can take a look after Lydia has gone back. I’ve got about a week after that.”

“I told Derek by the way.”

“What?”

“About the banshee stuff. It sort of came out when we were talking about what to do. Sorry. I hope that’s alright.” Scott looked apologetic.

“Well with you and Kira knowing, I think Lydia would understand if Derek did too. It sounds fair enough. I’ll clear it for you anyway.”

Scott’s face lit up. “Thanks, dude. I hope she’s going to be okay. It was rough here when you were doing your learn- to-be-FBI training stuff, really rough for all of us. I think it finally got to her. After everything else that had happened. And you not being around didn’t help.”

Stiles sighed. “You should have told me. I keep saying that.”

“No way. You were living the Stiles Stilinski dream. We weren’t going to spoil that! We were fine. We had help.”

“You guys!” Stiles shook his head fondly. “But don’t face things without me again. Don’t try and protect me. It’s okay. Come on here.”

He grabbed Scott into an affectionate hug. Scott gave him a friendly punch on his back. After 30 seconds or so of full contact bro-hugging, Scott disentangled himself and wandered over to sit with Kira and Lydia on Derek’s leather sofa. Stiles drifted across the room to talk to Chris and Melissa and to try and persuade them to let him have a beer when his father wasn’t looking.

As the clock ticked towards midnight, Stiles, without beer, found himself on his own leaning against a wall looking into the room; at Lydia, Kira and Scott - his friends and his pack, sprawled together on the sofa. They’d survived the year, they’d survived High School; they’d made it out. He felt a rush of emotion and loyalty towards them which was almost dizzying. He looked towards the junior pack. Mason was trying to lead them in some sort of weird formation dance. Liam wasn’t cooperating and was getting the steps wrong. Hayden and Corey were laughing at them both. Stiles wanted to make sure they made it through too. He wanted them to be a part of what he had with the others; to understand what it meant, what it could mean, pack. And Derek. He looked at Derek. He was laughing at something Parrish had said, tossing his head back. Stiles looked at the line of his throat and the slope of his body, watching the relaxed way he held himself. Derek was, at last, giving himself a future; a chance. Derek was funny; he was warm and sincere, and he was trying to make a life. Derek deserved everything a good one could bring him.

And as for himself, with Lydia by his side, Stiles couldn’t ask for anything more. He went to join her, sitting by Scott and Kira. Derek’s sofa was that big. Scott and Kira were quietly talking to one another now. Lydia was silent, her eyes half closed.

“Midnight soon,” Stiles said to her, looking out into the room. ”And the start of a New Year. We’ve made it through Lyds. This is it! Next year our future really starts. For all of us.” Warmth surged in his chest. ” We’re the Pack Posse together forever we'll never be parted - Oh!”

Lydia had gently taken his chin and turned his head. Softly and gently, she kissed him deeply and at length.

“Midnight soon,” she echoed.

Stiles looked at her. Her gaze was impenetrable and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Stiles glance flittered to one side and he suddenly found himself meeting Derek’s eyes. For a second or two they stared at one another, across the room, then Parrish, standing with him, touched Derek’s arm to bring his attention back, and Derek looked away.

Suddenly, Hayden was shouting about getting the champagne ready, and Scott was diving up and into the kitchen to get glasses. Kira was grabbing the party poppers and lighting the sparklers and the television was switched on to watch the Times Square Ball Drop.

“Ten...nine...eight...” The countdown. Everyone gathered together in the center of the room, champagne glasses at the ready. Stiles slipped his arm around Lydia’s waist.

Then, “Happy New Year!” and there were hugs and kisses all around. Chris Argent grabbed Melissa and the Sheriff, though he only kissed Melissa. Hayden, Liam, Mason and Corey formed one large wiggling sparkling puppy pile together. Stiles felt himself pulled into a hug by Scott, joining Kira and taking Lydia with him. Looking up he saw Derek and Parrish looking a little awkward, to the side. He beckoned them both vigorously.

“Come hug!” he demanded.

Both men looked at each other then Parrish laughed, shrugged and made his way towards them and into Scott’s embrace, avoiding Lydia Stiles noted. Derek was still standing and still looking uncertain. Stiles beckoned again and gave him a thumbs up. Then Derek was coming into the circle, Stiles pulling him in laughing. His body was warm and firm beneath Stiles’ arm and he smelled faintly of fireworks and smoke.

******

“There must be something,” growled Scott, hopping between Wikipedia links on Derek’s laptop. Kira yawned, sprawled out beside him, finishing off her donut, Stiles was browsing the Facebook group. Derek had been out to buy a load, now a heap of them lay thrown onto a tray in the middle of the sitting room in his apartment.

Stiles licked icing sugar from his fingers. Lydia had gone back to Boston to a load of coursework, and now he was back in the game. “We probably need to speak directly to one of the witnesses,” he said. “Just going from vague reports of fireballs and lights in the sky isn’t enough.”

Derek was watching him. “Maybe we should message them. Meet them or something,” he suggested. “Do you want a napkin there, Stiles? That’s disgusting.”

Stiles poked out his tongue then deliberately and slowly licked the last bit of sugar from his index finger. Derek sighed and shook his head.

“Yum,” said Stiles grinning and wiggling his fingers. “I can send this woman a message. Ask her. Invite her to chat. ”

Derek shrugged, “Do that.”

Scott stood up. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I promised Mom we’d stop by this afternoon.” He went to haul Kira up. “See you tomorrow perhaps? Stiles?”

“Sure,” said Stiles absently. “She’s online now- Hey!”

Derek had thrown a damp cloth from the kitchen at him, “Sticky fingers, laptop,” he glowered.

Stiles glared back. “Whose laptop is it?”

“Your laptop,” growled Derek. “It’s your laptop and it’s you who’ll go on complaining when it gets gunged up with sticky ickiness.”

“Think it’s time to gooooo,” said Scott cheerfully. “Things are getting scary here!” Kira grabbed her coat, gave a little wave farewell and they were gone.

“Sticky ickiness,” repeated Stiles gleefully as they left. “I’ll give you sticky ickiness...” but Derek spoke the truth. Stiles wiped his hands and slung the woman a message. Minutes later they were deep in chat. “She says she heard a bird or thought she did. It made her jump. It was what made her look up,” he said.

“A bird?” asked Derek. “That’s not unusual. Is it?”

Stiles shrugged. “It gives us more perhaps. If we have a bird at the same time as a fire in the sky. A harbinger of untimely death... Let’s see what google can give us,” Stiles grinned, turning back to his laptop. “Check out the Bestiary Derboy, see what that says too.”

“So what am I looking for?” asked Derek getting out another laptop from a smart looking leather case. Stiles noticed both looked new. He had probably bought them both especially for his police studies. Stiles felt a sudden burst of affection. It was cute. Derek settled himself on the sofa.

Stiles pointed at him, “Told you Derby. Bird, fire in the sky, death. Try bird and death first.”

Derek nodded and started looking through the online Bestiary while Stiles browsed. It was peaceful. Since Lydia’s departure, for the last few days Stiles had spent much of his time with Derek; sometimes with Scott and Kira but mostly not. He thought Scott and Kira deserved some couple time. It suited. Stiles had work to do for University, and Derek was still working steadily through his various modules. He had also decided to make use of his summer travels wandering from pack to pack and was writing up some of his observations. Stiles found these intriguing and kept interrupting and taking a look which invariably ended with them both having long and involved debates on werewolf hierarchies and supernatural etiquette.

“We need more,” complained Derek suddenly, sitting back. “We need to speak to more people. We don’t even know if the bird is significant.”

Stiles sighed. Derek was right. There was too much information yet at the same time it was all too vague. He flicked through his notebook looking at the names of the witnesses.

“Shall we go for a coffee?” he suggested. “If we go to Jesse’s Diner and have one there, we can speak to Jim Keegan on the list. It might be better speaking to people face-to-face.”

“Coffee is good,” said Derek, “if nothing else.”

Stiles stood up and stretched up high. His tee-shirt rode up exposing his happy trail. He felt stiff. “Lead the way McDuff,” he said, shaking out his limbs and pulling on his jacket which he'd flung on the sofa earlier.

Half an hour later and they were hovering in the doorway to the diner working out their approach, their quarry leaning against the cash register reading the local paper. There was no sign of a waitress. An elderly woman sat by the window nursing a fruit pie on a plate; cherry Stiles thought. Stiles had decided that Derek should take the lead, to give him verbal practice. “Pretend it’s a roleplay,” he said helpfully.

“Not helpful,” said Derek, schooling his features to try and look pleasant and approachable. “Do I look alright? Would you confide in me?”

“I would, “said Stiles giving him a gentle push and trying to be encouraging. “I would tell you everything; immediately.”

Derek managed a casual stroll, walking over to Jim with Stiles just behind. He greeted Jim with a nod. Jim nodded back and returned to his paper. Stiles poked Derek in his side. Derek cleared his throat.

“Could we have a coffee, please? Two.”

Jim straightened up, looking around and then frowning as he saw there were no wait staff present.

“Guess I’ll have to serve you myself,” he muttered. “Two coffees. Anything special?”

“No,” said Derek. “One black for me, the other white.” Coffee was simple at Jesse’s. “By the way, we’d like to talk to you about something too.”

Jim slowly made the coffee, “Talk away.”

Derek paused. “It’s about that fireball you said you saw. And what happened that night. You posted in the Facebook group.”

“Humm,” said Jim, “That I did. You want to add your own milk son?”

“Yes thanks,” said Stiles taking his mug and a jug.

“Could you tell us a little more?” Derek persevered.

“How do I know you aren’t just going to use it to make me sound a fool?” Jim looked at him. “That was some odd stuff on there.”

Derek was silent for a beat. “We wouldn’t do that,” he said firmly. “We know other people have seen it. We want to find out what it is. It might be important.” He paused then continued. “It might be affecting wildlife. It could be something illegal. Did you see anything else apart from the light? Did you hear anything?”

Jim narrowed his eyes then gave a nod, “I know you,“ he said pointing at Derek. “You’ve been working with Sheriff Stillinski. He’s a good man.” He looked at Stiles who gave him a brief, hopeful smile. “Alright then,” he continued, slowly rubbing his chin.

They drank their coffee as Jim thought. “Did I hear something?” he mused, scratching. “I suppose I might have done.”

“Can you take us through everything that happened that evening?” asked Derek looking serious.

Next to him, Stiles stood, quietly delighted. Derek was sounding professional, he thought, almost like a proper police officer. As Jim closed his eyes, trying to remember, Stiles couldn’t resist giving Derek a small and excited double thumbs up. Derek, slowly, raised his eyebrows at him.

“I heard a dog barking, I think,” Jim said eventually.

“Ah,” said Stiles eagerly. “What do you think made the dog bark?”

Jim looked at him and shrugged, “It just barked.”

Stiles bit his tongue, keeping back any number of leading questions. Derek nodded sagely and gave Jim a couple more minutes to think further and they waited. Jim continued to look into the middle distance.

Eventually it became clear that he wouldn’t be remembering anything else. They finished their coffee and wandered back into the street. Stiles was disappointed and flung out his arms. “That wasn’t helpful. He only remembered a dog. Perhaps a bird cry made the dog bark?”

“Perhaps,” said Derek. “Who else do you have on your list? We can ask someone else. Be patient.”

Stiles scanned down the notebook. “Jim is the only name I recognize. Damn.” He sighed dramatically.

“Let’s see,” Derek took the notebook from him. “I know her, Sarah White; she was in my year at school. She has a kid. She’ll be picking him up from school soon. We can try her.”

“Hmph,” said Stiles. “You think she’ll talk to us? She’ll be busy doing mom things.”

“She’ll talk to me,” said Derek. “I told you, I know her. It won’t take too long anyway.”

They walked towards the elementary school. A cluster of moms and a couple of dads with various combinations of dogs, pushchairs, shopping bags and toddlers stood outside. Spotting Sarah, Derek approached. She was one of the women with a pushchair and shopping bag combination and was wearing a dull sensible coat with her hair up in an untidy ponytail. Stiles saw her look up and see them. Derek waved at her and smiled. Sarah looked behind her and around. A slightly alarmed look crossed her face when she realized the smile was directed at her. Some of the other moms noticed them and stopped talking to stare at Derek. A couple of them, unashamed, were openly looking him up and down.

Derek strode over to Sarah who was now looking trapped and giving small glances side to side. She patted her hair trying to smooth it. Standing next to Derek, Stiles tried to look ordinary and reassuring.

“Sarah,” Derek said, holding out his hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Derek Hale,” said Sarah, blushing slightly, taking it gingerly.

“You’re just the woman I wanted to see,” said Derek with enthusiasm. Sarah looked as if she wanted to faint and stared at him.

“Tone it down big boy,” whispered Stiles. He sensed Derek freeze beside him. He’d put him off his stride. Damn, thought Stiles.

“We’re not interrupting, I hope,” Stiles said to her, pushing slightly forward. She shook her head, still gazing at Derek. Stiles noticed the small child in her pushchair, staring. He wriggled his nose and crossed his eyes. The child looked back, somber.

“No, no...,” Sarah stuttered. The other women nearby were, rather obviously, listening in now.

“We just need to ask you something,” Stiles continued and then nudged Derek with his hip to take over.

“Shall we move a little over here,” said Derek, back online, gently guiding Sarah towards one side, his hand hovering at her waist but not touching.

She moved off with him, away from the eavesdroppers who craned over to continue watching. One of them was watching Derek’s ass, Stiles could swear. He pointedly moved to block her view.

“We need to talk to you about the post you made in the Beacon Hills Facebook group,” said Derek. “About the fireball you said you saw. You remember it? We’re looking into what it might be. Speaking to people.”

Sarah carried on gazing at him for a couple more seconds and then seemed to shake herself slightly. “Yes, yes. I thought it was a comet. I suppose it could have been some sort of lightning. I don’t know. I posted it because other people said they’d seen it too.”

“Yes, “said Derek, smiling at her and nodding. “We need to go through everything that night. Just go through what you saw and if you heard anything. Take your time.”

Sarah put her head on one side and concentrated. “I looked up and saw the comet, lightning or whatever it was.”

“What made you look up?” asked Derek.

“What made me look up? I think I heard something.”

“What did you hear?”

“I think it was a dog. That dog down by the scrap yard. Something set it off barking.”

“Can you remember what that was?”

Sarah frowned to herself. “Yes, I’m thinking now. I think it was a bird. Yes, I remember thinking to myself that if something as innocuous as a bird could set it off, then anything could and what a nuisance it was.”

Stiles quivered with excitement. Derek put his hand out to touch his arm, calming him.

“Can you describe what the bird sounded like?”

Sarah looked surprised, “Not really. It was harsh. A screech. Like a crow or a raven. Not an owl.”

“Thanks Sarah,” Derek smiled at her again. “That’s actually really helpful.”

Sarah looked a little puzzled. Derek nodded confidently. There was an awkward pause. Sarah stood fiddling. Derek shuffled. He opened his mouth, about to speak-

“Yes,” thanks again,” interrupted Stiles sensing something random was about to happen. “If you remember anything else, just message me on Facebook. Here are my details.” He tore off a piece of paper from his notebook, his name written on it, and Sarah took it. Grabbing Derek, he pulled him away. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sarah watching them, a slightly wistful expression on her face.

“Thank you,” Derek said to him in a low voice. “I wasn’t sure how to end it there. The knowing her part knocked me off-kilter. I was about to suggest we keep in touch and go for coffee but that wasn’t right. I didn’t want to.”

“No. That might have been awkward,” said Stiles. “You needed to keep it professional. Perhaps we need to roleplay more endings. Did you ever actually talk to her in High School?”

“No, not really” admitted Derek. “I just remember her being there. “

Stiles sighed heavily. “You just remember her being there. My oh my. Yet she remembered you very well I think. Derek Hale. You were probably the catalyst for her sexual awakening, you know. An innocent young girl, lying in her bed at night...dreaming of lustrous dark hair and weird freakish eyes…slowly her hand creeps down…”

“Stiles!” said Derek.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You should be flattered, “Stiles grinned evilly and wiggled his eyebrows. “You might have been responsible for more sexual awakenings than you ever could imagine. And for some people you might not have expected.”

Derek glared.

“Come on, “said Stiles trying to be serious again. “Let’s get pizza and go back to yours. We can be sure we’ve got something to go on now.”

Back at Derek’s loft, surrounded by pizza boxes, half-eaten garlic bread and a carton of onion rings, Stiles and Derek got back to researching.

“We’ve now got a screeching squawking bird, fire in the sky, and dying,” said Stiles. “Let’s look at birds, screeching squawking birds. That are linked with death. I’ll see if the Bestiary can help, then back to google.”

He tapped away on his laptop, sitting on the floor resting against the sofa. Derek sat on the sofa behind him, quietly reading a coursebook on DNA sampling.

A while later, Stiles shifted about and groaned, “I keep getting owls, but she said it wasn’t that…I have owls, ravens, crows, magpies, eagles.”

“We can work with those,” said Derek calmly, putting down his book. “Minus owls. She may have been wrong but let’s drop them for now. What’s most common?”

“Okay,” said Stiles. “Hmm, most seem to focus on crows and ravens. Let’s start there.”

Derek plumped himself down on the floor next to Stiles; close with their sides touching, so he could peer at the laptop screen as Stiles searched. “Okay. So crow or raven, fire in the sky, death…”

“Oh…,” Stiles flopped back. “There is still too much. I can’t see it. I’m going to have to put it out there and see what comes back.”

Derek made an interested sound.

“Yes,” said Stiles. “I’ve built up contacts and connections over time on the net. I’ve found some serious places with some serious people I can speak to.”

Derek watched as Stiles posted on various forums, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “We can check tomorrow and see what people have come up with.” Stiles eventually said, standing up and packing his laptop away. “Best get home. Dad will be waiting.”

He turned to go and then, just before he reached the door, he stopped and turned to smile at Derek. “We rock!” he said with a mini bow. "We make a good team Der.”

*******

The next day, after their morning run; with Stiles complaining constantly how Commandant Hale was a slave driver and needed to get over himself, Derek and Stiles settled back in the loft and checked for replies from the previous evening.

“This looks interesting,” said Stiles. “Someone talking about ravens. They’re asking if anyone actually saw one. They want more details about the deaths too. They’ve DMed me. I’ll message them back. See if they come online.”

He typed quickly and then paced restlessly, fidgeting and waiting for a response. 

“Don’t be so impatient,” reprimanded Derek mildly. “For all you know, they’ve gone away for the week now.” He went and started preparing smoothies in the kitchen. Stiles was distracted and wandered through to join him. Derek was cutting up beetroot. He’d taken out a bunch of kale from the vegetable rack and had already chopped up an apple and couple of carrots which lay on the side in a neat little pile.

“What’s that?” asked Stiles.

“Beetroot and Kale smoothies. We’re having them for brunch. If you’re to get and stay fit you can’t eat garbage you know, Stiles.”

“Oh my god,” said Stiles. “Is this some sort of karma repayment you’ve cobbled together with my dad?”

Derek ignored him and started vigorously tearing the kale into smaller pieces and shoving it into the liquidizer. Stiles pulled a face and returned to the living room and his laptop to see if anything had happened.

“Hey, they’ve replied, “he called out, seeing the small message icon flashing. As Derek liquidized his concoction, Stiles fired off a Skype invite and made contact. She, it turned out to be a woman called Ama, preferred to type. She told Stiles that she was specializing in Native American folklore. Her mother was Cherokee. The story sounded familiar to her. Stiles told her about the deaths as Melissa had told him; people who were already seriously ill or dying but who had passed away sooner than expected. He said that fireballs had been seen in the sky and the cry of a bird had been heard; perhaps a raven or a crow.

As Derek wandered in with the smoothies, Stiles asked him: “Derek, she wants to know if any organs had been removed.”

Derek shrugged, “No idea. No-one said they were. I think Melissa said there weren’t any autopsies because none of the deaths were unexpected.”

“We need to check that. Ama wants to know. We can get back to her.”

Derek frowned. “But they’re buried. Stiles, I’m not going grave-robbing. I’m not digging up people. Not even for you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No not that. I think we’re going to have to wait to see if it happens again. Talk to Melissa. Maybe we should stake out the hospital.”

Derek sighed but it didn’t seem as if they had many options. “We can ask Melissa if she thinks there is anyone who might be a possible victim. We can try tonight. Here’s your smoothie.”

Stiles liked the sound of that, a stake-out. He was less sure of the smoothie.

Events beat them to it. That very same afternoon, Scott rang them. There had been another death at the hospital; an old lady. Again, Melissa had her suspicions. Stiles told him about Ama; she needed to know if any organs had been removed from the suspect bodies. But how could they find that out?

Scott thought for a bit then said that there was a portable x-ray machine at the vet's. Deaton had left over Christmas for some druidic convention so he’d be no help, but Scott thought he could sneak in and borrow it. It shouldn’t be too difficult as he still volunteered there from time to time and had a key. If he was successful getting it, he and Kira would meet Stiles and Derek outside the hospital later on with the machine. They’d go in and meet Melissa who would take them to the morgue to see the body.

A couple of hours later, Stiles and Derek got a confirming text from Scott; he’d managed to get the x-ray machine from the clinic. So, as planned, that evening they all met up and went inside; in pairs rather than a group to be less conspicuous.

The morgue was in the basement. Melissa had checked; the lady hadn’t been dead long so she would still be laid out there before being picked up by the undertakers. It was cold and the air felt still. The light was dim and shadows danced on the walls. There were two bodies there, on trolleys, covered with sheets. Stiles took a deep breath. These people might be dead but they had loved ones who missed them and to whom they were precious. They had had lives. He was determined to be respectful. He could hear Scott fumbling with the machine behind him. He checked the label on the first body, it was a man. He whispered a quiet apology for disturbing him and moved on.

“This is the one,” he said quietly, pointing to the second body.

Kira had stayed by the door, not wanting to get closer. Scott had now got out the x-ray detector. “We’re going to have to put this underneath her,” he hissed, trying to shove it under her back. 

Stiles grimaced and slapped Scott back. "Careful." Checking the label he whispered at Derek, “Derek, you lift her. I’ll slide the detector under her, and Scott can press whatever he needs to on the machine. Be gentle.”

Stiles turned to the body. “Mrs. Lambert. We’re very sorry to disturb you but we need to do this. You could be helping save other lives you know, I’m sure you’d be pleased about that. Derek here is going to lift you up a bit. He’s very nice looking so I’m hoping you might enjoy it a little. Or would have.”

He could hear Derek give a small, quiet snort. Ignoring him, Stiles took the detector from Scott. He gestured at Derek who carefully lifted the body up allowing Stiles to place the detector down.

Scott set up the machine. Stiles aimed the X-ray generator towards the body’s chest.

“Switch on,” said Scott, staring at the screen.

Stiles switched on.

“Switch off,” said Scott. Stiles watched him as he made various entries on the laptop, scrolling down with the mouse. “Odd,” he said.

“Is everything okay?” asked Stiles. “You do know how to use this thing don’t you?”

“Bit late to ask that now but yes,” said Scott. “What sort of things do you think I’ve been doing at Deaton’s all this time. But this is weird. Just take some more images. I’ll save them, then we can get out of here and take a proper look.”

Stiles frowned but did so, Derek gently moving the body as needed. When they had a sufficient number of pictures, they quickly packed the equipment away and crept out. Stiles noted that carrying medical equipment seemed to render them invisible to the busy nursing staff. He’d remember that.

Back in Derek’s loft, Scott got out the laptop and brought up the x-ray images.

“What did you think was odd back there?” asked Stiles

“This,” said Scott. “You see, here is the ribcage. And that’s the spine. But that’s it. This is where her heart should be. “

He pointed at the screen and they all looked. They could see. The body had no heart. It was missing.

*******

Cooking in Derek’s loft was a pleasure. Light poured in through the large windows making the kitchen feel bright and airy.

Scott and Kira were coming round that evening for a council of war. Stiles hoped that they’d have heard back from Ama by then. She’d been supplied with the information obtained the previous night, the only thing they could do now was wait for her response. They’d considered ordering pizza or Chinese to eat, but Stiles had decided that it would be really nice, for once, if they both cooked a meal for everyone and had a proper, grown-up dinner party type thing. Derek already had proper matching china and had popped out and got a tablecloth from the hardware store. They only had plain red but it was linen, and Stiles thought it would look good with Derek’s white plates.

For the dinner, Derek was in charge of the strawberry shortbread for dessert; made with tinned peaches as the store didn’t have any strawberries. Stiles had just discovered that the white flour he’d used for his cauliflower cheese was, in fact, icing sugar. Derek kept the two in identical unmarked jars; with his sense of smell he didn’t need labels.

“I think it would work,” Stiles said hopefully. “We could call it cauliflower cheese surprise. You think you’re getting a cheese sauce but then you get something that tastes completely different. And you’re surprised.”

“I don’t know,” said Derek doubtfully. “It might work if it was a good surprise but I’m not sure that it would be.”

“Maybe we should just go out for pizza,” said Stiles starting to despair.

“No. Stay calm. I’ve got this. We’ve gone for pizza twice this week. And curly fries. We need to do this. We can sort this out, “said Derek. “The cauliflower is still good, it’s not overcooked. We can rinse it off in the sink and make up some new sauce which we can heat up and just add; there’s cheese left. It’s only a side dish anyway. We still have the steak and the potatoes for the main meal.”

Stiles curled his lower lip and prodded the cauliflower cheese ‘surprise’ dubiously. It could work.

“Let’s try,” he said feeling more cheerful. He looked over at the strawberry shortbread. The cream of the shortbread complimented the rich gold of the peach slices, and it looked good.

Derek started rinsing the cauliflower.

Stiles watched him for a minute, his thoughts wandering to the next semester.

“Derek, when will you be starting your training? At the Police Academy.”

“Later this year some time. Maybe the summer. There’s one starting in July in San Jose. “

Stiles perked up. “San Jose! That could be near me. I’m going to try and get an internship with either the San Francisco or Sacramento FBI Field Offices. If we’re close we could help each other. Visit. You know, I have an idea.” He hesitated. “I could come and help you and McCall at the end of it. When I qualify.” He watched Derek, a slight line of tension across his shoulders.

Derek got some kitchen paper and wiped the cauliflower down. “You know San Jose is miles away from both?” He paused and gestured at Stiles, the cauliflower hanging limply from his hand. “But I think it would be a good idea if you joined the team if it comes off. I think that would work.”

Stiles beamed, the tension gone. “Wow! I think it would work too. It would be great to be together.” He grinned at Derek. “And it doesn’t matter, San Jose is near enough.”

Derek pretended to consider. “Well now you’ve got me trying to work out the advantages of San Jose and you being close and I must stay I can’t think of any.”

Stiles gasped in mock outrage. “Derek Hale, I think I am insulted. I have my incisive investigative mind. And you are so ungracious. Those hours I’ve spent teaching you your words. The blood, the sweat, the tears…”

“What blood, sweat and tears? I was managing fine before you came along!”

“I think not,” said Stiles dancing at Derek and weaving around him. “You were terrible. You said you were, you said so yourself. Roleplay!”

Derek put down the cauliflower and lunged at him. Stiles darted out of reach. “I’m turning you into a real boy,” he taunted at Derek.

Derek lunged and missed again. “Stiles,” he growled. “I’m getting angry.”

Stiles laughed, gave a little hip shimmy and growled back.

“Stiles,” said Derek. “You’re impossible!”

Still laughing, Stiles fell back against the kitchen counter and wiggled his fingers. “Don’t worry Derber. You’re surly and rude! You’re very dislikeable but everyone’s going to love you after I’ve been at you.” He had a sudden thought. “Hey, you speak Spanish, don’t you? You’re really fluent, I remember. Could you teach me? I’m taking a minor in college but it would really help if I could speak with someone too. The FBI like foreign language speakers.”

Derek shook his head but he was smiling.

Stiles fluttered his eyelashes. “Go on teach me, please. Learn me to speak Spanish just like you.” He started getting excited. “Go on, say something, I want to hear you speak Spanish.” He bounced up and down on his heels.

Derek stopped smiling and made as if he were thinking deeply, looking down at the kitchen floor. He ponderously rubbed his chin. Then he looked up at Stiles and gave an impish grin and started to speak:

"Ebrio de trementina y largos besos,  
estival, el velero de las rosas dirijo,  
torcido hacia la muerte del delgado día,  
cimentado en el sólido frenesí marino."

He was fluent; the Spanish cadences rolled effortlessly off his tongue.

"Pálido y amarrado a mi agua devorante  
cruzo en el agrio olor del clima descubierto,  
aún vestido de gris y sonidos amargos,  
y una cimera triste de abandonada espuma.

Voy, duro de pasiones, montado en mi ola única,  
lunar, solar, ardiente y frío, repentino,  
dormido en la garganta de las afortunadas  
islas blancas y dulces como caderas frescas."

He shifted slightly, half closing his eyes, it seemed speaking to himself more now.

"Tiembla en la noche húmeda mi vestido de besos  
locamente cargado de eléctricas gestiones,  
de modo heroico dividido en sueños  
y embriagadoras rosas practicándose en mí.

Aguas arriba, en medio de las olas externas,  
tu paralelo cuerpo se sujeta en mis brazos  
como un pez infinitamente pegado a mi alma  
rápido y lento en la energía subceleste."

He finished and looked at Stiles; motionless. His lips were slightly parted as if a thought had just crossed his mind.

Stiles was impressed. “Wow!” he gaped. “That sounded so cool. What were you saying? It sounded like a poem. Was it rude? You were being rude, weren’t you! You were dissing me. Come on, tell me what it means!” He hopped from foot to foot, eyes bright.

“Nope,” said Derek turning and seeming to shake himself. “ I am not going to tell you.” He returned to the cauliflower and put it in a bowl, his back to Stiles. “You’re going to have to learn Spanish and work it out yourself.”

”You are so rude,” gasped Stiles. ”I just can’t believe it.” Then with a sudden enthusiasm again, “Hey, does that mean you will teach me! Fantastic. Thanks, Derboy! You won’t be sorry.”

“As if I would be,” said Derek, turning back to him, but his mood felt different to Stiles.

Stiles put his head on one side. “You are okay about it aren’t you?” he said sounding a little uncertain.

Derek looked at him, “I’m absolutely fine.” He bit at his lip and took a small breath. “It will refresh me as well.” He smiled, a little stiffly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. Then decided he was telling the truth and cheered up again. “Okay. Spanish poetry can be an incentive. We can do it together. It’s going to be really fun. Hah, I’m going to speak Spanish!”

“You’ll still need to do all the grammar and stuff. I don’t know it all,” Derek reminded him, seeming to relax again.

Stiles nodded impatiently. “Yes, I’ll be doing all that in college, but it will be really helpful to just have someone I can just talk with. Learn words.”

“Great,” said Derek. “Well, we can start tomorrow. When we run. We can talk in Spanish.”

Stiles couldn’t help clapping his hands together. “Tomorrow!” he cried in delight. “Hey! What’s the Spanish for werewolf?”

Derek rolled his eyes.

The meal had turned out well, Stiles thought. The cauliflower cheese had been less successful than they’d hoped; the double-cooked cauliflower had dissolved into the second batch of cheese sauce forming a sort of mush, but the steak and the potatoes were good. The ‘strawberry shortbread made with peaches because there weren’t any strawberries’ had been popular too though Kira had wondered why they hadn’t simply called it peach shortbread. She and Scott would never have known. Derek said that had been an option but they were following the recipe.

Anyhow, stomachs full, it was time to discuss the current situation.

“So,” said Stiles. “We have missing hearts, a raven or a crow or a magpie - let’s forget about owls for now- fireballs and premature deaths.”

“Well not just missing hearts,” said Scott. “I checked with mom. Missing hearts but with no marks on the body. It’s not like other times when hearts were just torn out.”

“Have we heard from Ama yet?” asked Derek.

Stiles shook his head, “Nope, but I’ve sent her all the new information now. We can have another look anyway ourselves. See if we can find anything more.”

Stiles got out his laptop on the sofa. Derek sat next to him with a pile of mythology books and the Bestiary open on his computer. Scott sat and looked through old x-ray photographs with Kira giving her a crash course in veterinarian radiology.

Suddenly, Stiles sat up and poked Derek excitedly. “I think I have something. Look, look, look!”

Derek obediently looked. “Raven Mocker,” he read out slowly.

“Raven Mocker!” exclaimed Stiles back. “Listen to what it says here: ‘it robs the old, sick and the dying of their lives’ then it says: ‘it quickens the process of death’. It takes the appearance of a raven and mocks its cry. And it also says that it can appear in the air in a fiery shape. Oh my god, and it takes the heart of the sick person and eats it without leaving a trace to add the time the person would have lived to its own. It exactly fits what we have!” Stiles was bouncing with excitement.

“It sounds feasible,” said Derek. “Let’s see what Ama comes back with.”

“Does it say how we can defeat it?” asked Kira.

“It’s a bit vague. Talks about a Medicine Man. It also says that they take the form of a very old man or woman. Old because of the hearts they’ve stolen and the years they’ve added. They’re a sort of witch. If a Medicine Man sees them, they die within seven days.”

Enthused, they trawled through the internet, gathering what information they could find, but it was sparse with the same details repeated over and over. Eventually, Scott stretched, “Bad stuff,” he said shaking his head. “Sounds like we need a Medicine Man and that’s about it.” He stood up, getting ready to leave. “Best head off. I’ll fill in the rest of the gang; tell them what we’ve discovered. You’ll let me know when you hear from Ama? She might be able to tell us more. Thanks for the dinner.”

“Sure thing buddy. Thanks for everything too.” Stiles gave him a quick hug and then Kira who was leaving with him. Seeing them out, he returned to Derek and sat back down next to him.

“We need to find ourselves a Medicine Man, Derber.”

“There's not going to be a 'we' if you carry on calling me Derber. Or Derby or Derboy” said Derek. “But you’re going to be heading back to Washington pretty soon now aren’t you?”

“’Not going to be a 'we'. Ouch,” said Stiles. ” But yeah,” He nodded. “Off in a couple of days now. You know, it’s really interesting and I love it there. It’s everything I want to do but I miss here. I miss all of you. I’m going to keep thinking of the future now though; you, me, McCall; - the three X-fileseteers. Hashtag futuregoals. Scott can be Lassie.”

Derek laughed. Stiles smiled at him.

“I’ll come and visit you, “Derek said. “I want to keep up the links with Washington anyway. I can study just as well up there. I’m going to need to make sure you’re keeping up your Spanish too and make sure you aren’t slacking in the gym.”

“Ah, “said Stiles, rolling his head round to look at him. “Excuses. I’d say you just want me to help you pass your psychology. Learning how to understand the human mind and make use of those eyes of yours. They aren’t just something stuck in your head to look pretty you know.” Stiles made a V-shape with his fingers towards his own and pointed them back at Derek.

Derek lowered his brows and gave him a look. Stiles looked back and then reached out and tenderly bopped the tip of Derek’s nose with his fist. He couldn’t resist it. Derek was looking so growly and so ridiculously handsome, there.

“Seriously though, Derek,” he continued, “I think you’re going to be a great cop. This last week, you were really good. I was impressed.” He looked at Derek as earnestly as he could and hoped he didn’t sound patronizing.

Derek glanced down, but Stiles could see the pleased little smile that he was trying to hide and could swear the tips of his ears pinked. Stiles sat back. Over the break, the loft had become almost a second home. He felt comfortable there and, though at one time he could never have imagined it happening, had become very comfortable with Derek. Derek was looking through the books again. Stiles let his mind wander to a possible future, the two of them somewhere on a case; hunkered down in a seedy motel room. It would be night outside with neon streetlights and rain lashing against the window. McCall would be out perhaps pursuing a lead. He and Derek would be warm inside, and snug, sitting together on a threadbare sofa looking at evidence, shifting through interview notes, working out clues, half-drunk cups of coffee all around...

“Well anyway, if Ama can’t recommend anyone, I can ask Washington, “said Stiles interrupting himself and then with a flourish he saluted Derek, “Whatever, we’ll keep in touch Deputy Hale.”

“Yes, keep the lines open. We’re going to crack this case. FBI Agent Stilinski,” responded Derek immediately, saluting back.

“Wolfman”, said Stiles with sudden affection, burrowing his head into Derek’s shoulder. He felt Derek’s startled surprise and chuckled to himself. “I’m just happy,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the poem that Derek recited to Stiles in English. It's 'Drunk As Drunk' by Pablo Neruda:
> 
> Drunk as drunk on turpentine  
> From your open kisses,  
> Your wet body wedged  
> Between my wet body and the strake  
> Of our boat that is made of flowers,  
> Feasted, we guide it - our fingers  
> Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -  
> Over the sky's hot rim,  
> The day's last breath in our sails.
> 
> Pinned by the sun between solstice  
> And equinox, drowsy and tangled together  
> We drifted for months and woke  
> With the bitter taste of land on our lips,  
> Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime  
> And the sound of a rope  
> Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,  
> We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,  
> And lay like fish  
> Under the net of our kisses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy times are had here between Stiles and Derek but not sure if it warrants upping the rating.
> 
> Also Trigger warning - reference to past abusive relationship
> 
> By the way I now have a tumblr account at [craftydelusioncheesecake](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/craftydelusioncheesecake)

“Was that Derek again?” asked Stiles’ roommate, walking in and throwing himself on his bed opposite to where Stiles was crouched over his laptop.

Stiles had just finished talking to Derek on Skype. “Yep. Just sorting out his visit.”

“He’s staying with those rich friends of yours you’re always with?”

“Yes.” Stiles nodded.

Since Christmas, Stiles and Derek had been in frequent contact, a mix of Skype calls, texts and e-mails. They’d discussed their studies, comparing notes, and Derek had told Stiles about the police work he was doing alongside Stiles’ father. Derek was touchingly proud of it. Stiles could see him glow, even over their crappy video connection, every time he told Stiles about something his father had said or done that showed he trusted him or held him in regard.

Derek had kept him up to speed on events in Beacon Hills and was in touch with Ama about the Raven Mocker. She had finally got back to them and confirmed their suspicions. They were now discussing the recruitment of Medicine Personages; they could be male or female apparently. Harold had given Stiles some names, and Ama had a couple more. Derek said that he intended to follow these up. He had also informed Stiles that he was definitely coming to Washington again; to maintain relations between the packs and keep the alliance running smoothly he said. The plan this time was for a 3-week stay at the Lodge, he’d already confirmed it with Brianna. He and Stiles were talking dates now.

Stiles had taken up an almost permanent residence at the Lodge. He had his own study spot with a desk in the library, piled high with books and papers, and an extra chair ready for Derek. He had a Stiles mug to drink from and a set of spare clothes and wash gear for when he stayed over. He liked it at the Lodge. He liked being surrounded by people and activity and feeling he belonged. He guessed Derek liked that too. Derek had said that it was odd in Beacon Hills with them all at college; the junior pack was a tad too young to be proper company.

As he closed his laptop, Stiles thought how much he was looking forward to seeing Derek again. He wouldn’t be seeing Lydia until Spring Break. They had spoken a lot and it was clear that she was busy; caught up in a whirl of studying, projects and papers. Her latest focus was a paper she was preparing for a conference in Canada that somehow linked in with her plans to go to Europe over the summer. Stiles had offered to visit. He could bring her drinks and massage her feet, he’d said. Lydia had told him he would be a distraction and had said no, firmly. Stiles admitted to himself that the accusation was fair; and that not going was probably a good thing considering he had his own work to do as well. 

Stiles met Derek at the airport. He hadn’t been the only one looking forward to the visit. The pack had been pleased as well and had fussed about getting Derek’s favorite foods in. Joel had got excited too and had started winking at Stiles again. He’d recently been distracted by his attempts to manage a polyamorous relationship with a rather volatile barista from a local coffee shop and a flaky pansexual yoga instructor. Stiles ignored him and then forbade him from accompanying him to the airport when he asked and went to meet Derek alone.

Sauntering up to Stiles, Derek looked amazing with a bag casually slung over his shoulder and wearing what looked like new and expensive jeans and a grey Henley. He had a couple of days dark beard scruff which Stiles always thought suited him. Stiles felt lanky and pale in comparison.

Derek gave him a mock salute and grinned at him. “Stilinski,” he said and gave Stiles an appreciative glance up and down. “Can see you’ve stuck to the exercise program. Not too many donuts. Looking good.”

Stiles beamed at him and flexed his muscles.

Derek had plans for his time in Washington. He wanted to write up more of his pack travels and perhaps discuss them with Brianna and Harold. He also wanted to meet with Harold directly to discuss prospective Medicine Men or Women for the Raven Mocker situation and work out the best ways of approach. Stiles wanted in on that. Derek said that he felt visiting each individually, speaking face-to-face, might prove more effective. Stiles agreed. Supernaturals, and those who moved in that world, seemed to prefer the more old-fashioned and traditional ways of communication; meetings, letters and, as Stiles’ wryly remarked, violence.

Stiles had plans over the next three weeks too. As well as trying to intrude on as many of Derek’s as he could, he had college, of course, and there was also an FBI Open Day that Stiles decided he needed to attend. He suggested that Derek come along as well. “You’re going to be involved in it all too,” he said.

Derek agreed.

The sun was warm on the back of Stiles’ neck, as he and Derek walked towards the cluster of stalls set around a field for the FBI Open Day. People stood around talking. He could see a stage with a microphone and a lectern set out towards the back of the field with an array of chairs in front. There were a lot of people his age and younger milling around; some of Derek’s age too, both alone and in groups or couples.

They wandered, seeing what the stalls had on offer. Most focussed on information; about training courses, internships and various opportunities available in the Bureau. Stiles went from stall to stall grabbing what he could until he had a wad of brochures, leaflets and forms in his hand which he then proceeded to try to cram into his bag. He ended up at a stall festooned with strings of Stars and Stripes bunting fluttering in the light breeze. The woman behind it had information providing general overviews of the different branches within the FBI, and he soon became absorbed in a conversation about entrance requirements for the Criminal Investigative Division. Stiles was still considering the path he wanted to follow and, for the moment, that Division was his preferred choice. He planned to discuss it further with McCall. By his side, he could feel Derek getting restless, so he gave him a poke to encourage him to wander. “Have a look and see if there’s anything you’d find useful,” he whispered.

Obediently Derek took himself off and Stiles saw him head towards a large tent with a scattering of women outside and a few stands.

About 20 minutes later, Stiles had a handful of yet more leaflets and a notebook full of useful information. He looked about for Derek and then saw him, still by the tent, surrounded by some of the women he’d noticed earlier. Derek looked happy, almost excited. Stiles waved at him and Derek, after flashing a grin towards him, began to take his leave whilst the women smiled, cooed and fluttered around him. As Derek approached, the women looked over towards the two of them. One of them caught Stiles’ eye and smiled at him encouragingly.

Derek had leaflets of his own. He thrust them at Stiles. Stiles glanced at them. One had a photograph on it of a neat house with a beaming family standing in front by a car. He took it.

“Resettlement packages and support,” Stiles read.

“Yes,” said Derek. “They help with that. But it’s more, look.” He grabbed the leaflet back. “This one is about social groups, getting to know people. They were really helpful over there. They have all sorts of online groups; for spouses and partners to reduce isolation. It can be difficult when their husbands relocate, they said, but they all help each other. They gave me loads of websites and e-mail addresses. I wrote them down here.” He brandished a scrap of paper and gave a slight laugh. “I felt they sort of adopted me back there. They talked a lot.”

“Oh,” said Stiles haltingly. He hadn’t really considered any of that. He thought of Lydia as an Agent spouse among all the other Agent spouses. How bright her hair would look.

“They were so friendly. They said there are plenty of men now too, it’s all changing. I needn’t worry,” continued Derek.

“Oh,” said Stiles. “What exactly did you say to them?”

“What?” said Derek, then his attention switched, “Hey.” He nodded a greeting towards a couple of older women who were approaching them. The darker one was one of the tent women; Stiles recognized her. 

“Derek. So you must be Stiles. The one who’s joining us,” she said smiling as she came up to them. “I'm Maria and this is Lou. I just wanted to say to the both of you, any time you want to talk or you have questions, just get in touch. You have my details, Derek. Things are so much easier now. You’ll have a bright career ahead of you, Stiles. God Bless.” She bobbed at them both, touched the woman alongside her on the arm and they both left. Stiles saw a small rainbow flag pinned to the lapel of her jacket.

“Derek,” said Stiles again. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Derek. “They asked which of us was joining. I said you. All I said was I was with you.”

“Derek,” said Stiles. “They thought we were a couple.”

“Oh,” said Derek.

“I think they still do.”

“Oh,” repeated Derek. “Should we say something? Is it important?”

Stiles considered and decided it wasn’t, as they strolled towards the exit.

“No,” he said, then without thinking. “Because if we were I’d be happy to have you by my side anyway.”

He sensed Derek stumble next to him. Although he hadn’t meant to say that, now he thought about it, it was true.

Studies took up a lot of time for the both of them. Derek had his psychology modules to finish up, and Stiles helped him with them. Stiles was looking to his summer internship with the FBI; he’d passed the first selection round. His internship interview was only a few weeks away, and he felt he’d never be ready. His last mock interview had been a disaster. Nothing he said had come out the way he’d intended. His thoughts had been racing and had been all over the place. He’d watched as the interviewer’s face took on a familiar glazed and slightly lost look as Stiles tried to get his answers across. He’d flapped his hand helplessly and had probably drunk a gallon of water throughout the process to try and calm himself down.

Afterwards he’d come out into the sunshine, his hair mussed from where he’d run his hands through, and sat with Derek having a consolatory coffee. Derek had met him outside when he’d finished. Stiles was despairing. “I was a mess. I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I'm not going to get in,” he said.

Derek gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

“I wish I was more like you,” Stiles continued and mournfully drank his latte. He felt he talked too much, he got too enthusiastic and he jumped randomly from topic to topic. He confused people. With a certain irony, he now wished he was more like Derek with Derek's reflective pauses and periods of silence. It inspired trust and confidence, Stiles thought, not bemusement like he did.

Back at the Lodge with a slice of pecan pie that Derek insisted on buying him and curled up in one of the large comfortable chairs in the library, Stiles confided his thoughts to Derek. Derek was dismissive. “I’m envious of you Stiles,” he said. “You’re quick-witted, you can think on your feet. You can talk to anyone. My pauses are because I’ve no idea what to say. I’m standing there thinking everyone’s just about to realize I’m clueless.”

“Heh!” said Stiles. “And I’m the opposite. I talk too much and you pause too much. So what we really need is a bit of me in you and a bit of you in me!” He laughed. “We should work on that.”

As he chuckled at his wit to himself, he saw Derek looking across at him. He couldn’t quite work out his expression.

Later that evening, sprawled on a heap of floor cushions in the den watching television, they discussed Joel who’d been hanging over them at dinner. Stiles knew that Derek wasn’t interested in him but was there anyone else, he wondered.

“I don’t know,” said Derek. ” Braeden was fun and there was nothing else to it. But now I think I’m looking. Before, it wasn’t really a possibility even though I thought, maybe, I could find someone. I’m glad I didn’t. I wasn’t ready.” He frowned to himself. “The thing is, we seek a permanent bond, so we have to take care whoever we find is right. Once we’ve found a mate, then that’s it. At base, the wolf is in charge. We don’t want anything else. We’re satisfied.”

Stiles thought that sounded romantic and said so, clutching at his knees drawn up to his chest.

“I remember the bond between my parents,” Derek continued. “They were always so in tune, so together even when they argued or rather ‘vigorously discussed’ as my mom called it. I was only little but I always knew that was what I wanted too.”

Stiles agreed. “It was the same with mine. It’s one of the reasons I want to stay near my dad. When my mom died he lost so much. I, somehow, want to make it up to him. To be there for him. And I want what they had too. It’s what I want with Lydia, what I have I think. I’ve loved her for so long. She’s my ultimate dream come true.”

“You’re very happy with her,” said Derek softly.

“I am,” said Stiles.

“I’m glad,” said Derek. “You deserve someone good. I never thought Malia was right. She was too raw.”

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know. I always thought we should have worked. I think I made myself think she was what I wanted and refused to think otherwise or see anything else...I’m glad we finished. She was too much. She hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Derek sat up.

“Only scratches. Though some of them were deep. She was...rough. I tried to stop her. She didn’t mean it...Honestly, Derek, don’t look like that, please. You’re growling.” Stiles wriggled back into the cushions.

Derek was standing now, “Where?”

“On my back. Derek!” Derek had moved and was starting to attempt to pull Stiles' shirt up. Stiles protested, ‘Derek, they’re gone now, stop! They were just scratches.”

Derek backed up, his face dark. “Did anyone else know? Stiles. It should never be ‘just scratches.’ Never. She hurt you. Stiles you must never, never, ever let anyone do anything like that to you again. Promise me, please.”

Derek was genuinely upset. He was partially wolfing out.

“No-one knew, not properly…Derek, Derek, I promise.” Stiles reached out and laid his palm on Derek’s cheek, gentling him. ‘I’m okay now. It’s okay.”

Derek was still distressed, “I can’t... I don’t think I want to see her again. I’ll…I’ll…”

“Shhhhh,” said Stiles soothingly, still touching. “She didn’t know what she was doing, really. She just didn’t understand boundaries. It’s in the past now.” He paused then gently stroking, “It wasn’t the same as Her. Not at all” Looking at Derek he saw Kate in his face and what she'd done to him.

Derek shivered, and Stiles found himself taking Derek into his arms, pulling him down. It didn’t feel awkward or strange. It felt right. He held Derek and could feel him trembling. He held him tight until he felt him slowly relax, as they lay amongst the cushions together. After a while Stiles became aware that Derek was holding him just as much as he was holding Derek; Derek’s arms securely around his waist, holding him close, safe and still.

The times that Derek was absent, visiting Medicine Men and Medicine Women; he’d made up a list, Stiles missed him. The Lodge seemed quiet. Stiles hadn’t expected it but, now, there was something natural in how well they found themselves fitting together. They complimented one another. At some fundamental level, Stiles felt at ease with Derek. Maybe that happened when people had saved one another’s lives often enough, and when people had seen one another at their very worst. Stiles had always tried to be the strong one, the one who could be relied on, who fixed things. He found he could speak to Derek in a way that he’d held back from with others because of that. He could confide his doubts and replay certain scenes again and again while he worked them through in his mind. Whatever he said, he felt Derek continued to like him in a straightforward, unvarying way without him having to do anything other than be himself. Stiles, glancing sideways, would catch Derek watching him with a small fond smile on his face which sometimes he didn’t drop fast enough when he saw Stiles looking. Stiles also grew to suspect that not many, no one perhaps, saw Derek from as many sides as he did; relaxed, funny, anxious and vulnerable. When Derek sought support and reassurance, Stiles was the only one who could give it; the only one there to give it. It made him see this thing that had grown between them as fragile and so precious. In his mind, he saw it as porcelain rose with paper-thin petals held in his hands, though he’d never in a million years vocalize the thought to anyone or even to himself, fully.

When Derek was in Washington, some lunchtimes, he would meet Stiles out of classes. They’d practice Spanish walking around the campus and have lunch in one of the many cafes dotted around nearby. Stiles had managed to grasp the basics from his college studies but said he still needed to build his vocabulary. They’d try to keep to pure Spanish, but sometimes they found themselves lapsing into a strange version of Spanlish that only they understood. At other times, Stiles gave up completely and, still stubbornly determined to avoid using English, would try and mime what he wanted to say. Derek would attempt to guess often deliberately badly, Stiles suspected, just to make him snort with laughter and indignation at Derek’s ridiculousness. They also played Inference again; ‘Our Game’, said Stiles, as he persisted in helping Derek learn 'people speak'. But now they found themselves making up stories about the people they were watching, devising their own histories and adventures. Derek showed a dry and rather dark sense of humor causing Stiles to laugh despite himself.

Some evenings, after their gym workouts, they simply went walking in the Lodge grounds. Derek would shift into his full wolf and chase imaginary rabbits which would make Stiles laugh and shout out. Derek in wolf-form was joyous. Stiles would throw sticks for him to chase, Derek would ignore them to try to catch him instead and Stiles would dodge and run. Derek would leap at him, trying to slather him in wolf saliva making Stiles grimace and complain loudly before running off to encourage Derek to do it again.

They made a point of both attending the pack dinners several times a week. It pleased Brianna. Derek and Stiles would always sit next to each other. Stiles enjoyed the noisy backchat that took place, and he participated with vigor. Derek would remain quiet most of the time, but sometimes Stiles would see him trying to hide smiles behind the back of his hand. He noticed that Joel and Derek had got closer, though not too close he made sure of noting, and he’d see them talking together from time to time. Joel was considerably more restrained at the table, restricting his flirtation to the odd wink or raised eyebrow. Away, he was still gaming for a double seduction, as he informed Derek and Stiles with total candor in the library one day making Stiles wiggle indignantly against Derek’s side. Though, to be honest, Stiles still found Joel on his game entertaining and didn't discourage him.

Every other day or so, Stiles spoke to Lydia, sometimes with Derek there though he took mostly care to leave them alone. Once, Derek was asleep sprawled on the sofa when she called, Stiles on the floor in front leaning against it. Stiles turned off the speakers and typed so as not to wake him. He could see Lydia peering into the camera lens. The room was in shadow with a floor lamp providing the only light, so she probably couldn’t make out exactly who it was.

_Stiles: Hello love you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_Lydia: Is that Derek behind you? Is he sleeping?_

_Stiles: Yes. He’s tired. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Type only. Mustn’t wake him. We’ve been out all day._

Lydia was still peering. He wondered if she’d ever seen Derek so deep in sleep before.

_Lydia: He looks so relaxed._

Stiles nodded. She didn’t mention Derek again, and he continued to tell her of their day accompanied by the gentle click, click of his keyboard as he typed. He could hear Derek breathing softly and peacefully behind him, occasionally shifting in his sleep.

Stiles’ George Washington friends got on well with Derek; the Abercrombie Terminator as they called him after the Christmas laser tag. They went out for meals and saw obscure bands in small and sweaty student venues. On one memorable occasion, they all went clubbing. Stiles hadn’t thought he’d get Derek to go with them, but after surprisingly little persuasion he agreed. And not just that, he made a serious effort to look the part. Stiles knew he could look nicely turned out himself, schooled by Lydia, and he knew many of his friends were not bad looking. However, in comparison to Derek with his hair carefully gelled, his beard scruff just so, tight jeans and fitted maroon v-neck tee-shirt, they all looked distinctly ordinary. In the club, Derek was like a honeypot in a room full of bees, as one of Stiles’ friends remarked. They stared as women, and some men, with looks way out of the league of Stiles and his crowd, gathered and hovered around him, showing tantalizing glimpses of skin and moving with deliberate sensuality in front of him. Derek danced - Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off his hips, he must have had liquid bearings - and gave slow smiles and bold challenging glances towards his admirers. Stiles could see a hint of how it must have been after he left Braeden. Slightly tipsy from the whiskey shots they’d had before they’d left, he propped up a wall and watched.

Halfway through the evening, Derek gravitated to Stiles’ side. “Leaving all your fans?” chided Stiles lightly. “So many to choose from. Who'll be the lucky one?”

Derek leaned towards him. “Which one do you think?” he whispered into his ear. ”Pick me one.”

Stiles looked around the dance floor. “Her.” He pointed at a slim blonde who’d been gyrating at Derek earlier.

Derek laughed softly, he was still standing close. Stiles could almost feel the heat from his body. “I think she was showing off for her friends. I noticed she kept looking towards the bar. You want me to be her trophy?”

Stiles raised his brows. “No,” he said adamantly.

Derek gave a small smile and nudged him gently with his shoulder. “Very well. Not her then… O Alpha, my alpha.”

“What?” said Stiles, startled.

Derek didn’t reply. “Come,” he said. “Let’s dance. Let’s play Our Game. Here.”

He pulled Stiles, who had never seen Derek like this before, onto the dance floor. It was slightly exciting. Stiles thought the music must have done something to him; the beat seeped inside him, or maybe it was the scent and the sweat of the dancers. As he followed, he felt a sense of danger from Derek; something unpredictable and wild. He sometimes forgot wolves were predators. Stiles kept near, still holding onto his hand. 

The music seemed louder on the dance floor. They danced close together, Derek whispering guesses and stories into Stiles’ ear as they looked at the dancers around them. Some were quite outrageous and rude and made Stiles gasp and laugh. Derek’s hands glanced off his hips. From time to time they ducked away to one side to rest, and he stole sips from Derek’s beer when he wasn’t looking; or was pretending not to. Derek gravely exclaimed at Stiles how quickly his drink emptied and claimed he couldn’t understand it. From time to time various of Stiles’ friends would join them; there briefly and then dipping off again back into the tangle of warm dancing bodies swaying and twisting around them. Stiles and Derek found themselves up against a wall. It was hot and Derek’s face had a light flush, his eyes were bright. He was slightly sweaty; his shirt clung to him in interesting ways.

“You make me laugh, your face makes me laugh,” said Stiles leaning his body into him, his head spinning with the whiskey and beer.

“And why’s that,” asked Derek, raising an eyebrow.

“Because these people,” Stiles waved vaguely out at the room, “they only see that.” Stiles gestured at Derek. “The sexy, growly, muscularly hotness. However, I don’t, I know you’re just a failwolf.” He tapped the side of his nose and tried to look sly.

“A failwolf!” said Derek, mock outraged. “And what makes you say that?”

“Stiles, oh Stiles! What do you use words for? I never knew they were supposed to mean anything,” said Stiles gleefully, swaying and waving his hands. “What, I have to talk to people? Oh no. Help me, help me. Oh, teach me Obi Stiles Stilinski. You’re my only hope!”

He collapsed into giggles. He felt Derek grabbing his arms and gently shaking him, being angry but really not. Stiles ducked his head into Derek, trying to wipe his nose on his shoulder; his nose had an itch. One of his friends came up and started talking. Derek said something, and they wandered off again.

“Itchy nose,” said Stiles.

Derek scratched it for him.

*******

Derek left at the beginning of March to go back to Beacon Hills, promising to keep Stiles up to date with the Raven Mocker. Eventually, he had found a Medicine Man from Ohio who was willing to travel to Beacon Hills: Oukonunaka - White Owl, he was called. He was from the Cherokee tribe, and Stiles desperately wanted to meet and speak with him and see him work his magic to defeat the Kalona Ayeliski; the name given by Oukonunaka. Derek promised he’d put everything that happened on Instagram. Stiles, skeptical, pointed out that Derek didn’t even have an Instagram account. Derek said he’d post a story on Snapchat. Stiles was surprised that Derek knew what Snapchat was. Derek responded by snapping Stiles a selfie using a comical dog filter giving him long floppy ears, a whiskered snout, and a drooping tongue. ‘Rawr’ he’d typed across it. It was simultaneously so unexpected and so ridiculous that Stiles couldn’t help laughing and he saved it.

He showed the photo to Lydia over Skype, who he was due to visit a couple of weeks into March, to show her how Derek had changed, and she politely marveled with him. He’d arranged to visit Boston for only the weekends of his Spring Break to see her as their breaks hadn’t coincided, and during the week she had her classes. He had briefly considered staying in Washington for one weekend; some of his friends had plans, but the draw of Lydia was too strong. The thought of the visits cheered him with Derek gone home.

The first weekend, Lydia was waiting to hear the outcome of her application for the CERN internship. She had decided that was the internship she wanted. A placement at an observatory in Australia was her fallback though, with the way Lydia was, Stiles doubted it would come to that. Lydia said she thought she was a frontrunner although she reminded Stiles about the high level of competition she was facing and the amount of work required getting an application worthy of even being considered.

Sitting on her bed, Stiles tried to tell her about the Raven Mocker and the Medicine Man, but Lydia’s attention drifted and she started glancing at her phone.

“Derek said Oukonunaka wants to stay in Beacon Hills for a while. He thinks the Raven Mocker has gone to ground. It might know he is there,” he said to her. Oukonunaka had informed them that the Raven Mocker would adopt the human guise of an elderly man or woman, hiding somewhere most likely in open sight. Stiles imagined Derek, Mason and Liam methodically searching through Nursing Homes poking at old people to see if they turned into a demon or a witch. Lydia yawned.

“We can go catch the new Jennifer Lawrence movie,” she said, scanning the listings. “It’s got good reviews.”

Stiles didn’t much want to see the ‘new Jennifer Lawrence movie’. “He might be bringing Oukonunaka up to Washington. Derek I mean,” he continued, not sure if this was true or not but it was an idea he liked. Perhaps he could persuade Derek. “I’d like to meet him. He knows so much I could learn.”

“There’s a new superhero movie out too. Would you prefer to see that?” Lydia was frowning at the screen. An adorable little crease appeared between her eyebrows. Stiles briefly imagined smoothing it with his finger.

He took the hint. “New superhero movie? Er...yes?” he said, dropping the Raven Mocker. “Perhaps.” But he felt uncertain. Lydia did not like superhero movies, he wasn’t sure why she had suggested it.

“Hmm. Well, which?” Lydia was looking at him.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he should say. He wanted to see the superhero movie; that was an obvious. It had already got an enthusiastic thumbs-up from Scott during their last Skype conversation. However, on one hand, he didn’t want Lydia sitting through a film that she didn’t want to see but on the other, if she had really minded seeing it she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Stiles felt torn and wondered if she was trying to test him somehow. He decided to play safe. “I don’t mind Lyds. But you don’t like superhero movies.” He looked at her trying to read her thoughts in her face. “I can go and see it in Washington. It’s fine.”

Lydia sighed to herself. “You’re right. I don’t. Let’s go to see JLaw. I want to see her movie.” She started scanning for nearby restaurants.

As he watched her, Stiles felt slightly uncomfortable, as if he’d done something wrong and that somehow he’d given an incorrect answer; he couldn’t think in what way. On Skype, he later told Derek the movie was dull and had far too much talking in it and then tried to work out why Derek kept laughing at him.

By the second weekend, Lydia had heard; the internship was hers. Lydia’s desk was covered with guides to Switzerland and French phrase books. Stiles sat with her, and they looked through the information sent through about CERN. Lydia tried to explain some of the work that she would be doing, but soon left Stiles behind. Later, he sat and watched her talk it through with her MIT friends, some jealous but others full of their own internships; to Japan, New Zealand and Peru, glamorous places and far away. He felt happy for her although it was the final confirmation that they would be spending the summer separately.

When he was back in Washington, Stiles spoke to Derek. “I feel Lydia is moving away from me,” he said.

Derek reassured him. Lydia had just received the opportunity of a lifetime. She was excited. “She’ll sort herself out, don’t worry. It’ll get back to normal,” he said. “She’s coming to see you for her Spring Break.” Derek nodded as if that would solve everything.

Stiles sighed. Lydia was visiting for the first weekend, but on the second she had said she’d some papers to complete. He believed her, but he was starting to wonder if he was boring her and if he was really enough for her. He gazed at Derek on the screen, so far away in Beacon Hills, and thought how nice it would be if he was in Washington with him. They could have gone and got pizza and eaten too much garlic bread and ice cream. And it would have helped Stiles forget and pretend everything was fine.

“You never Snapchatted the Medicine Man story,” he said.

Derek raised an eyebrow, unfazed at the subject change. “Did you think I would?”

Stiles pouted. “You said you would.” A spike of irritation came up inside him, he wasn’t sure from where. “I want to know what’s happening. I’m stuck up here all on my own twiddling my thumbs, Derek.”

“Hardly,” said Derek mildly. “And nothing has happened. You know that if anything was going on I would have told you. I’d tell you everything. You know that.”

Stiles did.

For Lydia’s Spring Break visit, Stiles bought new sheets for the bed and spent the whole afternoon tidying, bribing his roommate to vanish for the weekend. His feelings of insecurity hadn’t vanished. He wanted her to have a weekend that would assuage his doubts, and maybe hers if she had them. He bought some flowers which he put in a vase, artfully arranged on his desk among his textbooks. He went for a haircut. Then he confirmed his pièce de résistance; Saturday night at one of the better hotels in Washington. He'd wanted the best but his money hadn't quite run to that. He was going to keep it a secret until the following day and then surprise her.

Determined to make the weekend all about her, Stiles had suggested a play on her first evening that he knew from Kira, via Scott, that Lydia wanted to see. Now they stood in the street outside the theatre, the play having started 30 minutes earlier. Lydia was not happy.

“Stiles,” she said. “You must have realized that we would be late. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Stiles twitched to himself. “I thought you knew what time it started. You were reading the listings.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I was. But I was reading something else. Didn’t you think something was wrong, looking at the time when I said I wanted to finish watching that programme?”

Stiles winced. “Well, you wanted to see the end. I wondered about the time but I thought you had checked and you... I thought...” Stiles couldn’t really say what he thought.

Lydia was silent a while. Stiles watched her and fiddled with his sleeve. “We could see what else is on. Or maybe just go for a meal?” he suggested nervously.

Lydia sighed. "Yes let's eat," she said decisively, seeming to put the issue behind her. She linked her arm with Stiles and pulled him towards a Thai restaurant they'd noticed earlier. Relieved, but still feeling bad, Stiles allowed himself to follow.

The meal was good. They ordered a mixed starter for two to begin with. As they ate spring rolls, fish cakes and prawn satay from a large silver dish, Lydia talked about the summer and asked Stiles about his plans. Had he heard any more about his internship? He’d been waiting. Stiles told her he had contacted McCall and that it looked like he might have found a placement for him in San Francisco if he passed his interview.

"What's Derek doing?" she asked.

"He wants to start his Police Academy Training sometime. Perhaps in July so he’ll be in San Jose. They move the course from place to place depending on when it begins."

"San Jose. That's quite close to San Francisco."

"Yep," Stiles nodded happily. "He's still really nervous about the admission process. I think he's worried about failing; about letting us down in some way. It's cute. I keep trying to reassure him. He'll have no problem. He’s been working with my dad."

“Do you still think you’ll end up working together?”

Stiles shrugged. “I hope so. But I’ve got a long way to go yet. I need to get in first.”

The waitress interrupted, bringing their main course. Thai green curry for Stiles and some sort of fried fish with peppers for Lydia. For a while, they ate in a companionable silence. The fiasco with the play had stressed Stiles but now he began to relax and looked across at Lydia. She caught his eye and smiled at him. He felt she’d let him off.

When they got back Lydia announced she was tired and wanted to sleep. Stiles snuggled into bed next to her, their legs tangled, and held her until her breathing slowed, enjoying the smooth feel of her skin against his. It took a while before he fell asleep.

The next morning, Stiles was bursting with excitement over the surprise he had planned. They went for a leisurely breakfast nearby and took a walk around the area before returning.

"Pack your bag!" announced Stiles as they walked back into the room. "But just for a night."

"What?" said Lydia.

Stiles grinned, started stuffing his clothes into a bag and nodded at her. Looking slightly bewildered, Lydia grabbed hers and began to pack her cosmetics and hair styling products.

“Stiles what are you doing? What’s going on?” she asked

“I am giving you a surprise!” Stiles said triumphantly.

"This surprise, do I need to pack smart. Take my dress?" Lydia was looking brighter and a smile played on her lips.

Stiles nodded and gave a bow. "Indeed m’lady, I'm taking my smartest trousers and a jacket."

An hour later saw them standing in front of The Hay Adams Hotel, Downtown Washington. Stiles marched into the grand entrance hall, Lydia trailing behind him, and walked up to Reception. Around them guests browsed newspapers sitting in large overstuffed chairs, hauled luggage or stood in clusters talking. A small group of Japanese tourists was fussing over postcards. Everywhere was gold glint and wooden paneling. Huge vases of white flowers stood on carved oak plinths.

"Afternoon. Booking under Stilinski," he said authoritatively as the young smartly dressed woman on the reception desk looked up.

"Ah, yes," she smiled, smoothly tapping into a computer with elegant fingers, "Room 52, your keycard Sir."

Stiles took the keycard. Lydia had moved to stand beside him.

"Stiles," she hissed in his ear, "How much did this cost! You shouldn't have. How could you afford it?"

"Never you mind. My treat!" Stiles whispered back.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "You didn't do anything silly, did you? Sell anything?"

"Only my body!" replied Stiles, laughing. "No, Lydia, just enjoy it."

The room was opulent and comfortable with a large double bed with a pile of cushions arranged with a deliberate casualness in the center. There was a 42-inch TV and, Stiles was thrilled to find, slippers and thick toweling bathrobes in the bathroom. Lydia was pleased and explored the room, opening drawers and looking in cupboards. Stiles, content, watched her from the small chaise lounge at the end of the bed.

She asked him again, “How did you afford this?”

Stiles shook his head, “I have enough saved away Lyds. It’s worth it.” He could forgo a holiday over the summer, he’d be working anyway, and who needed new clothes. He’d chance his jeep could go without repairs too.

They took a walk outside down into Lafayette Square. The day was pleasantly warm and spring-like. People strolled in shirt sleeves. Stiles told Lydia it was cherry blossom time in Washington DC and took her down to see the cherry trees in full bloom in the Tidal Basin. They wandered through them, delicate petals scattered like pink confetti over the ground. Stiles bought Lydia a lemon sorbet which she ate by the Japanese pagoda and removed stray petals from her hair. In the evening they dressed for dinner in the restaurant and drank champagne in their room; smuggled in in Stiles’ bag and purchased courtesy of Derek. Lydia drank too much and said she was tired again. Stiles had had hopes but settled for a joint shower and mutual shoulder massage, Lydia didn’t seem inclined to much else. Once in bed, Stiles lay and stroked her hair. Then, quietly, once she was sleeping, he got out his phone.

_To Derek: Hi_

He waited for a response. Derek might be sleeping. Or it was Saturday night; he might be out or with someone. Stiles didn’t know if Derek hooked up when he wasn't around. Five minutes or so later, his phone flashed with a message.

_From Derek: Stiles. Are you okay? Is Lydia there?_

_From Stiles: Yes. She’s sleeping_

There was a pause. He wondered, was Derek thinking?

_From Derek: Did she like the hotel?_

_From Stiles: She did. She does._

_From Derek: kk_

_From Stiles: We looked at cherry blossom today and drank the champagne. Thanks for that_

_From Derek: Nice. Glad I could help_

Stiles put the phone down and looked across at Lydia. She looked peaceful asleep; a wisp of auburn hair lay softly across her forehead. Stiles felt desire stir. He wanted to kiss her but didn’t. She wouldn’t be pleased if he woke her though to be fair neither of them appreciated sudden awakenings. He could wait till morning. They would have time. He looked at Derek’s name on the screen of his phone. Was Derek lying in bed too, his phone on the bedside table? He’d answered quick enough, perhaps he had been reading. Stiles had only been in his bedroom a couple of times. He had a large king size bed. The duvet had been a dark purple and it looked soft and deep with some sort of leaf pattern design on it, picked out in grey. Stiles imagined himself sinking into it. With a sigh, he messaged Derek back.

_From Stiles: Best go. Nn. Thanks again_

_From Derek: Night Stiles_

Stiles set his alarm to wake early.

Stiles woke, blinking and bleary-eyed to a knock at the door. Lydia was already up, wrapped in one of the bathrobes. He watched as she opened the room door, admitting room service with a trolley bearing differing sized silver trays and plates loaded with fruit, cereal, eggs, bacon and toast.

“Breakfast in bed,” said Lydia. “Room service. I’m taking advantage. Don’t worry, my treat this time.”

Stiles canceled his alarm, superfluous now, and sat up. Lydia was gleeful. She was spreading everything out on a small table by the window overlooking the street. “Eat,” she said.

Stiles didn’t need telling twice. It wasn’t quite the early morning he’d planned, but it’d do and he was hungry smelling the food. As they ate, they sat and looked down at the passers-by in the street below, watching as they went about their business. The majority seemed to be tourists out sightseeing, not unexpected for that time and that place on a Sunday morning.

After they’d finished, Lydia, bright and enthusiastic, urged him to get ready so they could head off back to George Washington. She wanted to get more sightseeing in. While he got ready, she sat and fiddled with his phone looking through his photographs. Taking it back from her, he found she’d changed his wallpaper from a photograph he’d taken of Scott, Kira and herself at Christmas to the picture of Derek with the dog filter. It was still ridiculous.

They checked out at 10 am and returned to the dorm, so Lydia could pack the rest of her things and Stiles could drop off his from the hotel. Lydia was leaving that afternoon. She had a study group in the evening back in Boston that she said she couldn’t miss. They wandered around a couple of museums to see some sculpture by an artist Lydia liked before Stiles took her to the airport to wave her off. Waiting for the departure time, Lydia stood beside him, composed and self-contained. Almost, Stiles felt afraid to touch her. When the time for the announcement of her flight came near, she turned to him and, placing her hands on his shoulders gave him a soft kiss on the side of his mouth.

“I’ll see you in the Summer. Good luck with your exams.”

He rested his hands gently on her hips. “Same to you, Lyds. Though you won’t need it.”

Lydia smiled at him and then she was heading towards the Departure gate, weaving her way through the milling crowd, her red hair distinctive until she finally disappeared from view.

*******

Stiles sat in his room at halls and stared at his computer. He was supposed to be revising but instead, he was looking at Derek’s new Instagram. Derek had set it to private and so far Stiles was his only follower. Derek had put up three photographs. One was of a middle-aged, slightly plump man in Native American dress standing outside Derek’s apartment. Derek stood beside him looking grim and unshaven; pretty much as normal, Stiles thought. The second showed a ritual taking place outside a building. The same man, Oukonunaka Stiles assumed, was driving a stick into the ground. Mason was standing behind him holding a black cloth with Liam next to him. The final photograph showed Oukonunaka smoking a pipe and walking by a wall. It looked like the same building. In the last two shots, Oukonunaka was wearing western clothes, presumably to be less conspicuous.

Derek and Stiles had been talking. The Raven Mocker was remaining elusive. Oukonunaka had been carrying out the ritual shown in the photographs to protect those considered particularly vulnerable but had not succeeded in capturing the creature. Derek preached patience. It was highly likely that the Raven Mocker had increased the area it was using to hunt especially if it was aware of Oukonunaka. The odds of them being in place when the Mocker approached a victim were low, so it was more likely that they would trace it in its human form. They needed to continue looking. It had to be living somewhere.

Stiles felt frustrated. It was the sort of investigative work he knew he was good at. He’d spoken to Mason a couple of times and got him to trawl through some real estate registration records looking for recent tenants of unusually advanced years but Stiles should be there himself, in Beacon Hills. He needed to be able to speak with Oukonunaka directly, to ask questions and start plotting out leads; getting out his red string and pinning up clippings on his wall. He flung out his arms with frustration at Derek over Skype when they spoke.

“After your exams,” said Derek. “We’ll have time. I’ll be near enough Beacon Hills over the summer if things go well. So will you if you get them and if you pass your interview. Study hard. Don’t talk to me. Disconnect now.”

Stiles groaned and flopped back.

The ladybird walked with great confidence to the very tip of the blade of grass Stiles was watching, stretched its small wings and took off. Stiles bid it a silent farewell and fished around the bottom of his glass with his straw pinning down the last few sugar saturated mint leaves in his mint limeade. He hooked them out, capturing them with his tongue and sucking them in with his lips. Derek, watching, raised his eyebrows. Stiles grinned.

It was hot. The two of them lay in the Lodge garden surrounded by books and papers. Stiles was revising, Derek was preparing for his entrance tests to the Police Academy scheduled for the following week; he’d be flying back down to California to take them then flying back to join Stiles for his last few exams and the following end of semester celebrations.

Derek had announced a few weeks earlier that he’d be coming to Washington for the summer semester to help Stiles study though so far it had been more the other way round. Stiles was sure that Derek could pass the test half asleep but Derek was anxious and needed encouragement. He was particularly worried about the interview; afraid questions about the past and the times he’d spent wandering without record would come up.

They’d decided, for sure, that Derek should go for the July entrance and be in San Jose, and he was now diligently reading up on the course content; to help with the interview he said. Stiles’ father had already been prepping him for both the oral interview and the psychological assessment. He had spent the last month back in Beacon Hills working with the BHPD and collaborating with the Sheriff. Collaboration was the correct word Stiles thought wryly, and not just over cases. Derek had let slip over Skype that they had weekly steak evenings together, horrifying Stiles. His dad had been defiant and Derek guilty. Eventually, Stiles had allowed it on the condition that only the leanest cuts of meat were used and plenty of salad and vegetables eaten to ensure his father’s diet remained healthy. Derek had promised. Secretly, Stiles was overjoyed to think of his father and Derek sitting together in the yard or in the front room, companionably chowing down and talking of police matters.

Stiles was quietly excited about the summer. Despite his doubts, he had managed to pass his interview and had got himself the internship at the FBI Field Office in San Francisco. “They said my interview answers were creative and they liked me,” he told Derek who had refused to be surprised. Now, Stiles was busy making plans for them to share an apartment together over the summer, somewhere halfway between San Francisco and San Jose. Derek was refusing to discuss it until he’d been accepted into the Academy; he said it’d jinx it.

Stiles rolled over until he was sprawling over across Derek’s back, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder. “What yer doing now?”

Derek moved his book for Stiles to see. “Stop and Search,” he said.

Stiles pursed his lips and considered it. “Derek, you know all that. And they won’t ask it anyway.”

Derek dropped his head down into the grass. “I so much don’t want to fail it, Stiles. If I do I’ll let everyone down. We’ve so much hanging on this.” Derek was so earnest and worried. Stiles still thought it endearing.

“Don’t worry.” Stiles tumbled off Derek onto his side so he lay facing him. “If you don’t pass, you can do it again. But you’ll be fine!”

Derek looked up and gazed at him uncertainly, biting his lip. Stiles fought down a sudden crazy impulse to kiss his nose. “You catastrophize, Derek,” he said trying to sound authoritative. “Think positive.”

Derek groaned. “You’re lucky. You’re so full of confidence, Stiles.”

“Full of bull more like. I need to pass my exams too. I’m worried.” Stiles rolled to bury his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. “You smell all sweaty.”

Derek dipped his nose down into Stiles' hair, “Your hair smells of apples. Did you change your shampoo? It’s nice. You always smell nice.”

“Mmmm,” said Stiles, burrowing deeper.

It had got like that, such contact with easy intimacy. He couldn’t be sure when the touch barrier between them had just given up and crumbled. It was true they’d grown closer during Derek’s three-week visit in March. There had been strokes, pats and nudges with Stiles no longer a stranger to drifting into sleep curled up against Derek’s side watching a video on the laptop or on the television in the den.

This time though, this time, suddenly little seemed out of bounds; nuzzling, cuddling, scenting. Stiles loved the smell of Derek; it was masculine, woody and reassuring. Derek constantly gave him light touches, scent marking him. Stiles thought it might be exam stress. He told Lydia. It was extraordinary; they were worse than him and Scott at maximum bromance, who would have thought it with Derek, he had said and laughed, amazed.

In his wolf form, Derek would let Stiles wrap his arms around him and burrow his face deep into his soft dark fur. Stiles would allow Derek to delicately nibble at his fingers and give gentle little licks to his arms and face. Derek took to sleeping at the foot of Stiles’ bed at night. Stiles complained, surely Derek would prefer the bed? In the morning Derek, dressed and back in human form, laughed at him and said that it was all one to him, he was a wolf. And Stiles might object to waking with an armful of naked Derek.

Stiles wasn’t too sure of that anymore. He was aware that they were getting close but refused to think any further. He sometimes wondered if he should step back a little. But then he’d look at Derek stretched out next to him, relaxed and trusting, asleep on the sofa or he’d think of him, frowning in concentration and trying hard, memorizing police regulations as Stiles read them out to him. He’d remember Derek laughing as they spoke in their ridiculous Spanlish, attempting longer and longer and more absurd phrases as Stiles’ Spanish improved. He’d think of Derek simply being there; listening, accepting and calm. And he’d recall the secret little smirk Derek gave when he thought he’d said something clever or funny to make Stiles laugh and the way his hair was mussed when he woke from a doze. And the way they both fitted so perfectly together.

So he decided he shouldn’t and put it all down as a werewolf pack thing.

*******

Lydia’s flight was delayed. Stiles sat waiting, nursing a coffee and texting Derek who had stayed behind in the Lodge. Derek was wondering about meeting up later but Stiles wasn’t sure; he didn’t know what Lydia would want to do. They’d be staying at the University. The students wouldn’t be clearing out for another couple of weeks yet. Beyond that, Stiles was leaving it open. He kind of hoped she’d agree to stay at the Lodge with the pack and Derek until she left to fly to Europe. He wasn't sure if she was returning to Beacon Hills before then.

Finally the flight came up on the Arrivals Board. Stiles stood up and watched as people poured through the Arrivals Gate, playing with the edge of his tee-shirt. Derek had carefully dressed him that morning to look his best and had insisted he wore one of the plain shirts they’d bought on a shopping trip the previous week. It was a little more fitted than the tee-shirts he normally wore.

Thirty minutes later and Lydia was there, looking composed and as beautiful as ever in a light summer dress. She had worn it before and Stiles liked it. Stiles took her bag. He then wondered if he should embrace her and decided he ought to so he put the bag down. She felt small and delicate in his arms. She gently rubbed his back and kissed his cheek.

“How are you?” she asked. “You look really well.”

Stiles gave her bare arm a gentle touch. “I’m fine.” He reached down into his rucksack and brought out a small box. He gave it to her. Lydia took it tentatively, looking wary.

“What’s this Stiles?”

“Open it,” he urged her.

She did so carefully and took out a miniature silver trophy cup. On the side, it read, embossed in a curved cursive script: ‘Top of the Class’. “You came top,” said Stiles.

Lydia laughed, maybe a little loudly, and flung her arms around him. “Thanks, that is so sweet. I heard you did ok too,” she said, and then, looking around, “Where’s Derek? I thought he’d be here.”

“He’s back at the Lodge. We weren’t sure what was happening. What your plans would be.”

“How is he doing?”

“He’s fine. He got into the Academy.” Stiles couldn’t help smiling. Derek had been so pleased and so smug when he’d got the results. He had practically glowed. They’d had a celebratory pack dinner. Derek was not usually one for being the center of attention, but this time was an exception and he’d sat there, blushing and flushed with happiness while Stiles sat next to him, poking at him with excitement and pleasure on his behalf.

They caught the bus towards the Student Halls then walked part way, Stiles enjoying the sunshine and Lydia quiet. Once there, Stiles made Lydia a coffee. She sat perched on his bed, the mug on the floor at her feet. She hadn’t unpacked yet.

“Stiles,” she said.

Stiles looked at her. She was fiddling with her bracelet. It caught the light as she twisted it. She took a deep breath.

“Stiles, I can’t do this.”

Stiles froze. He watched as Lydia squared her shoulders and seemed to ready herself.

“It’s not going to work. We want different things. We’re different people.”

Stiles felt numb. He thought, he hoped, he didn’t understand what she was saying. “Lyds,” he said desperately, “No, I – “

“Let me finish.” Lydia held up her hand. “You keep seeing me as someone perfect, I’m not.” She rose a finger and pointed at him. “No listen, you do. You’re doing what you always do. You can see everyone else around you except the people close to you. Not properly. You never saw Malia. She clung to you, it wasn’t healthy. You couldn’t see that, you wouldn’t. The way she behaved; it was wrong. But you accepted it. You thought it was what you should do. It was bad for you and it was bad for her. And now us. I could take and take from you, and you’d let me because you don’t think you’re good enough to stop me. You think you don’t have anything else to offer. The only one who could stop me would be me, and I don’t want to have to be that person, perhaps I don’t trust myself. But I don’t want that responsibility. I don’t want everything to be down to me. It's just not like before when you cared less; we were friends. “

“That’s not true,” said Stiles though he couldn’t think how to deny it.

“Stiles,” said Lydia shaking her head. “You need someone who makes you feel safe enough with to look at what you want. Who makes you yourself. Who makes you able to be yourself. Someone who can challenge you and you won't feel you've failed, and someone you can call out in return. You never call me out, and I know I can be selfish and mean and ruthless, and I’m capable of using that to get to where I want to go and that’s irrespective of what you might want. And I am going to go places.”

Stiles stared at her miserably, saying nothing.

“And let’s be honest, “Lydia continued earnestly. “You’re looking for your one true love. You’re looking to recreate the love that your parents felt for each other, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But my parents split up, that’s what I know, and you know what; I’m fine with that. I’m not looking for a happy ever after. I don’t need it. I’m not even going to think of one before I’m 30. I want to travel and study. There is a whole world out there. I don’t want my feet to touch the ground. I want to win awards, do science and make a name for myself. And I know it’s going to be tough, but I can’t wait to start.”

Stiles bit on his lower lip. “But I’d -.”

“Stiles,” said Lydia firmly. “I know you would support me. But you have said time and time again you want to go back to Beacon Hills and California. I would be happy if I never saw Beacon Hills again. And I do love you. But that love belongs to the Beacon Hills Lydia. It’s a love for Allison, for Aidan, it’s the love of a 16-year-old girl who thought she had to be someone she wasn’t and who went through hell and barely survived and lost people she cared for. It’s a love for a Stiles who has been with me all the way through and who, so many times, I thought I’d lost as well. It’s a love for all of us who made it out of High School when sometimes we thought none of us would. But it’s not a love for the me now nor for the me I want to be; for the future Lydia who’s no longer a part of that and who’s going to be her own woman.”

She looked at Stiles. “And Stiles, is that what you want? To be no longer a part of that? What are you really looking for? What do you really want?” She paused for an instant, “I reckon you’ve already told me. Think about it.”

Then, finally, she stood. “This summer I’m going to Switzerland. After that, I may try and get a study year abroad. They have exchange programs. I’d like to live somewhere like Japan for a while.” She adjusted her dress in small precise movements. “ I’m returning to MIT tomorrow. I’ve booked a hotel room for tonight. I’ll go now.” She gave him a look. “Call Derek to pick you up.”

Stiles couldn’t think. He watched as Lydia picked up her bag, neat and organized. She took another look at him, turned and left the room.

Still numb, Stiles messaged Derek

_From Stiles: Lydia has dumped me_

Within seconds

_From Derek: I’ll be there_

Derek had borrowed a car, Joel’s it turned out. Stiles hadn’t moved from his bed when he arrived thirty minutes later, only shifting to open the door when Derek knocked. Derek gently guided him down to the street. Stiles face kept crumbling in on itself. “She’s gone. I thought we’d grow old together Der,” he said.

There was no sign of the pack when they got back to the Lodge, perhaps they were keeping clear. Derek took Stiles’ hand and led him into the living room, pushing him down onto the sofa. He piled a heap of cushions around him. Stiles heard him heading towards the kitchen. Stiles got out his phone and listlessly scrolled through. He looked at the Derek-dog photograph and touched a finger to it. Derek came back with two bowls of ice-cream. “Chocolate mint chip? Joel went to buy some while I was driving over to you.”

Stiles nodded. Derek gave him one of the bowls and a spoon and settled himself down next to him. He switched on the television and scrolled through the channels until he arrived at something he evidently thought suitable. It had spaceships in it shooting at one another. Stiles sat and numbly ate his ice cream.

“There’s more after that,” said Derek. “I asked Joel to buy several tubs.”

Stiles nodded again. He heard some noise in the corridor outside. Derek got up and went, presumably to speak to someone lurking by the door. Moments later he was back. Once he was seated again, Stiles burrowed into him, ice cream finished. Derek felt solid and safe; reassuring.

“More ice cream?” asked Derek. “They’re all different flavors. I didn’t know which you might want.”

Stiles shook his head. He felt, suddenly, absurdly moved and slightly tearful. Derek had heard that ice cream was the right food for broken hearts and had got some for him especially. How much did he have? In his mind’s eye, Stiles saw a pyramid of ice cream tubs going up to the sky with Derek force feeding him, trying earnestly to help; desperately forcing chocolate mint chip ice cream down his throat while his stomach grew and grew until it burst. He could feel Derek shifting beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Stiles shrugged. “There isn’t much to say,” he said. There really wasn’t, he thought.

The rest of the week Stiles flopped about miserably, staying at the Lodge. He messaged Scott who was distraught on his behalf. He didn’t want to tell his father, yet, that his perfect relationship had fallen apart. The Washington pack was sympathetic although they didn’t say much which Stiles was thankful for. He spent most of his time with Derek as they both made preparations to leave Washington for the summer. They talked with Oukonunaka who looked to be settling in Beacon Hills and was talking about opening a gift shop. He had a sharp sense of humor and a clever eye.

Later Stiles lay, his head on Derek’s lap with Derek running his fingers through his hair, and thought of Lydia once more.

“I can’t believe I’ll never be with her again,” he said mournfully. He picked up his phone and idly looked at it. He could sense Derek looking too. He remembered he hadn’t changed the wallpaper back when Lydia swapped it back at the hotel. It still showed Dog-Derek.

“Oh,” said Derek. “That’s me. I’m a dog.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You took it,” Stiles allowed himself a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photograph that’s sums you up better come to think of it.”

Derek looked down at him and growled. He rolled his eyes and bared his teeth. Stiles found himself giggling and reached up.

“Does it make you laugh?” asked Derek ducking away from Stiles’ wiggling fingers.

“Yes,” said Stiles. “It does. It’s funny.”

“It’s a good photo then,” said Derek decisively. “It’s bad for you to be sad.” He stroked Stiles’ hair and twisted a strand around his finger.

“Quítame el pan si quieres  
quítame el aire, pero  
no me quites tu risa.”

He was speaking in Spanish, dreamily. Stiles listened.

“Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo  
con los ojos cansados  
a veces de haber visto  
la tierra que no cambia,  
pero al entrar tu risa  
sube al cielo buscándome  
y abre para mí todas  
las puertas de la vida.”

His hand had stilled and he looked down at Stiles, his eyes hooded. The shift in mood sobered Stiles who gazed up at him.

“Pablo Neruda?” Stiles asked. He now knew that Derek had a well-thumbed book of Pablo Neruda poems, owned by his mother, which he kept as one of his most treasured belongings. He knew many of them by heart.

Derek nodded.

Stiles frowned. “Which one was it? You never told me what that other poem was. That one you said at Christmas. I looked but I couldn’t remember it.”

“No.” Derek made to get up, starting to move Stiles off him. "Come, let's eat."

Stiles resisted and grabbed at his hand. “Derek, what did you just say? I heard you say bread and I heard you say laughter. I understood that but you spoke too quick for most of it.”

“No,” said Derek again. “It’s just a poem. It’s about laughter. It’s nothing.” He’d sat back down, sitting still, his back straight.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Google is my friend, “he said and pursed his lips, looking determined. Derek sighed.

Using his phone, Stiles found an English translation after a few moments looking. He read it through silently. It seemed to take an age. Derek sat, looking ahead.

“Oh,” breathed Stiles when he’d finished. “I made you think of this? Me? All of this?” He read out the final verse, his voice almost a whisper.

“Laugh at the night,  
at the day, at the moon,  
laugh at the twisted  
streets of the island,  
laugh at this clumsy  
boy who loves you,  
but when I open  
my eyes and close them,  
when my steps go,  
when my steps return,  
deny me bread, air,  
light, spring,  
but never your laughter  
for I would die.

Is all that true? Do you really think that?” He put a heavy emphasis on ‘all’.

Derek had closed his eyes, putting his head back against the sofa rest. “Yes,” he said. He sounded emotionless, flat.

Stiles was quiet. He was still lying on Derek. It was comfortable, and he didn’t want to move. He cast his mind back to the week just gone. He hadn’t heard from Lydia. He wasn’t surprised and hadn’t really expected to although it hadn’t stopped him from constantly checking his phone in case she’d left a message; about what, he couldn’t say. But, all the time, Derek had been there and he realized that, with him around, it actually hadn't been that bad. Derek had made it okay. And, looking forward, Stiles had so many plans, and Derek was a part of them all. But Lydia wasn’t, and never really had been. Perhaps he and Lydia had been moving apart for a while, and he simply hadn’t noticed. Gazing up with the words of the poem still dancing through his mind; Stiles for the first time, allowed himself to look properly at Derek- taking his time. He ran his eyes over Derek’s face, his nose, his firm jaw and his dark stubble; his lips. He looked deep into his eyes and wondered at their color as he'd done many times before, ever since he was sixteen years old. They were beautiful; beautiful eyes. Derek looked slightly away, face expressionless but with a slight tension around his mouth. He wouldn’t quite meet Stiles' eyes. Stiles didn’t like that. Derek was unhappy and stressed and that wouldn’t do. “Look at me,” he whispered, reaching up and taking Derek’s chin to gently move his head round to face him.

Stiles let feelings emerge, feelings that he hadn’t acknowledged before; of warmth and a deep affection beyond friendship for the man above him. “We’re pack,” he murmured, to himself almost. “Just the two of us. We’re pack.”

He caressed Derek’s face softly and then gently cupped his cheek. He could feel Derek’s stubble beneath his fingers, and he felt a slight prickle of arousal. Derek was looking at him now, motionless; not daring to move, his nostrils flared slightly, breathing in. So very, very precious, Stiles thought and smiled at him. Derek, still watching him closely; looking into his face, bent and slowly, so so slowly, not once shifting his gaze from Stiles’, placed the lightest of kisses on Stiles’ lips. Stiles smiled again but placed a hand on Derek’s chest, just above his heart, pushing him back slightly. “Shhh,” he said, his thumb gently ghosting over Derek’s sternum.

Derek stopped. The room was silent, time felt suspended. Outside Stiles heard a car go past. He could see sunlight and trees through the open window behind Derek. They gazed at each other. This is so significant, thought Stiles. “We can’t rush this,” he said. Derek nodded, his eyes were glistening; tears? Fuck, thought Stiles.

He rolled off Derek and stood, holding out his hand. Slowly, tentatively, Derek took it. “Let’s go make sandwiches,” said Stiles giving a gentle tug and pulling Derek up. Fingers interlocking, Stiles took them into the kitchen.

After that, well after that everything changed. Outwardly Stiles and Derek continued as normal, but touches stayed longer and their exchanged glances lingered. Stiles moved out of Halls.They carried on talking about the summer, but now the prospect of their sharing an apartment was full of additional promise. They made plans for their return to Beacon Hills. There was the Raven Mocker to be confronted. Stiles couldn’t wait to meet Oukonunaka. They booked their flight home.

The pack didn’t say much, but Stiles sensed their delight. They’d picked up on the changed relationship almost immediately. Joel flung himself at them. Stiles hadn’t noticed until he thought about it now, but Joel's flirtations had stopped over the last couple of weeks or so, maybe for longer. Now, Joel seemed to want to make up for lost time. He made comments towards Stiles that made him shake his head and laugh and Derek good-naturedly growl.

“Derek babe,” Joel would grin, “I’m only saying what you’re thinking.”

However, Stiles noticed Joel never touched him now; nor did the rest of the pack. Only Derek came close. He wondered at that.

Stiles gave it a few days before he decided they should make things public. He’d rather have waited longer but they’d be leaving in less than a week, and he wanted everyone back home to know before they arrived. “It’s not been long since Lydia, my supposed heart’s desire,” he told Derek, worried. “They’ll think I’m shallow, a floozy or a trollop.”

“Floozy?” said Derek, “Trollop? What century are you in? You’re right though. They’ll think you shallow as a driveway puddle and be very shocked.”

“So not helpful!” exclaimed Stiles, throwing himself on to Derek and kissing him silly. There had been much kissing over the days just past, both of them relearning one another and shifting together into their new relationship (though to be honest, neither had far to go). But Derek had still been sleeping in wolf form at the bottom of Stiles’ bed while Stiles held himself back from anything more than kisses out of a vague sense of propriety and respect for Lydia.

That night was the first time they properly slept together. As he lay naked, gasping beneath Derek, Stiles regretted he’d held out more than a day. Derek’s touch was sure. His fingers stroked, his hands caressed bringing sensations out of Stiles that he’d never before imagined. Derek was experienced. Stiles arched up and cried out. “It’s all for you,” whispered Derek into him, “Every other touch, every other one, it’s all been for you, to be ready just for you.”

Stiles moaned into his shoulder wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist. Derek worshipped his body, scenting and licking every inch; kissing every mole. Stiles had never felt desired as much. In turn, he explored Derek. He ran his lips over Derek’s chest and toned stomach, playing his tongue through his chest hair and enjoying the feel of hard muscle underneath. He tangled his fingers in Derek’s pubic hair and stroked his firm muscular thighs and felt Derek quiver. The male body felt so different. He’d be getting used to it now, he thought. Derek’s eyes were dark with want. When Stiles finally came, they flashed golden and Stiles thought it was with the same brilliance as the sun. Derek came over Stiles’ stomach. Stiles reached down and took a drop, smearing it up, laughing, onto Derek’s cheek.

The following morning, Brianna embraced him.

The first person Stiles told was his father, who, to his slight irritation, wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have the decency to act shocked that it was Derek. “So all the time I was going on about Lydia being the love of my life you were going ‘Nope’,” he said to his father, pouting.

“Well it was blatantly obvious you were both heading in opposite directions. Out of the two of you, one of your dreams had to give. You’re my son, kiddo. I hoped it wasn’t going to be yours,” his father replied equably. “And I’ve spent a lot of time with Derek. And you’ve been Skyping at me forever. Son, if you ever want to conduct a clandestine affair; just don’t. “He yawned, “At least you and he are going to end up in the same place, now. It’ll be a whole load easier to keep an eye on you both.”

Stiles snarled. He still hadn’t forgiven his father for not telling him it was Derek’s birthday last Christmas.

Scott was astonished but, after Stiles had managed to convince him that it wasn’t an out-of-season April Fool, he admitted that Kira had been pointedly remarking on how close Stiles and Derek had become for some time; and how much they had in common. As Scott babbled details that he shouldn’t have known, Stiles became suspicious. Scott also took time to inform Stiles that at last, he believed that Stiles was bisexual; he’d thought before it might have just been teenage hormones and desperation talking. Stiles thought of responding, but didn’t.

His last Skype call was to Lydia. He and Derek had talked a lot while Stiles had been processing his newly emerged feelings and got his thoughts back in order. He felt he understood her better now, and himself. Just as she saw him as part of her Beacon Hills life, he thought he saw her that way too. He had been worrying about her drawing away from him while all the time he had been drawing away from her and moving towards Derek. It was funny really. He thought he still loved her, but like her feelings for him, his feelings had changed; and both had been a product of Beacon Hills. Lydia was the girl who he’d always loved - and in a way always would, to be honest. Just as he had been there for her, she had been there for him with just his baseball bat, his battered old jeep, and his desperate teenage high school bravery to fend off the world. But Lydia had her own future to make now, and he had his too with Derek at his side he hoped. A Derek from his past but renewed in his own way as well.

After a deep breath he called her. She looked just the same which felt weird. She nodded a greeting.

“So you’re with Derek now,” she said almost immediately.

That caught Stiles off guard and he flailed a bit although it confirmed what he had suspected.

Lydia arched an eyebrow. Then she suddenly smiled; one of the really rare Lydia smiles that made her entire face light up. “I’m glad,” she said with feeling. ”Derek’s right.” She gazed at him, looking long and seeming to take in every detail. “Because I do love you and I’ll never stop. And Derek, I know it's the same.”

Stiles nodded and stared back. She seemed far away and not just physically. Already she felt a part of his history.

They talked a little until she turned and looked over her shoulder and said something to someone behind her who must have just entered the room. “I need to go now and sort out some stuff for Switzerland. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,” she said turning back.

“Ah,” said Stiles remembering, “I need to go too. I have to look at apartments for the summer with Derek. He said he was printing a load off to look through. We’re looking at Pleasanton or Fremont, halfway between San Francisco and San Jose. Both are on the BART for me. We’re checking out the commuting for Derek now.”

“That sounds good.”

“Yes!” said Stiles smiling, feeling that same little thrill he felt whenever he and Derek discussed their living together. “Both are part of the ACE too so Derek can get into San Jose but we want to see what it’s like to drive as well in case he has to stay late some days. There are only a few trains per day. We’ll have to work out what time he’ll come home. Time it with when we can eat together so we can do that as much as possible.”

Lydia’s lips twitched slightly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. ”Lydia Martin, are you laughing at me?” he said suspiciously.

“Never,” she replied seriously.

“Humph,” said Stiles. He felt the gears of their relationship slowly grind, shift and reposition themselves into a fresh new pattern.

Lydia reached out and placed her hand on the screen. She smiled softly. “Bye Stiles, keep in touch. Remember, I’ll always be here no matter how far away I might be.”

Stiles reached out in return, laying his palm flat on the monitor against hers. “Not even a Ghost Rider would stop me,” he said.

They gazed at each other a couple more seconds then Lydia lent forward and disconnected and Stiles was left looking at his desktop.

He heard Derek come up behind him. He rested a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed. Stiles swiveled his chair round. In his other hand, Derek was clutching maps and printouts of brochures with photographs of apartments and smart, together looking houses with gardens and driveways and trees. Stiles leaned into him. Derek bent down and gently nipped at his ear.

“Lydia is off to Switzerland soon,” Stiles said.

“Switzerland watch out. Actually, scrap that; everywhere watch out,” replied Derek. He gave Stiles a nudge. “Put it like this though. We might have potential crash pads available all over the world for us in the future.”

“Outrageous! Lydia is not a hotel.” exclaimed Stiles reaching up to embrace him, all warm and solid; his very own wolf. He could feel Derek rumbling to himself, content. Stiles still couldn’t get over how his very existence could make Derek so uncomplicatedly happy.

Behind Derek, as they held each other, the window was open. Outside Stiles could hear voices and someone singing, the notes, pure and clear, drifting in on the warm summer breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a translation of the poem Derek was referring to. He recited the first and third verses:
> 
> Your Laughter by Pablo Neruda
> 
> Take bread away from me, if you wish,  
> take air away, but  
> do not take from me your laughter.
> 
> Do not take away the rose,  
> the lance flower that you pluck,  
> the water that suddenly  
> bursts forth in joy,  
> the sudden wave  
> of silver born in you.
> 
> My struggle is harsh and I come back  
> with eyes tired  
> at times from having seen  
> the unchanging earth,  
> but when your laughter enters  
> it rises to the sky seeking me  
> and it opens for me all  
> the doors of life.
> 
> My love, in the darkest  
> hour your laughter  
> opens, and if suddenly  
> you see my blood staining  
> the stones of the street,  
> laugh, because your laughter  
> will be for my hands  
> like a fresh sword.
> 
> Next to the sea in the autumn,  
> your laughter must raise  
> its foamy cascade,  
> and in the spring, love,  
> I want your laughter like  
> the flower I was waiting for,  
> the blue flower, the rose  
> of my echoing country.
> 
> Laugh at the night,  
> at the day, at the moon,  
> laugh at the twisted  
> streets of the island,  
> laugh at this clumsy  
> boy who loves you,  
> but when I open  
> my eyes and close them,  
> when my steps go,  
> when my steps return,  
> deny me bread, air,  
> light, spring,  
> but never your laughter  
> for I would die.
> 
>  
> 
> The next part of the series will cover Stiles and Derek returning to Beacon Hills and confronting the Raven Mocker. There'll also be a look at their lives together in either Fremont or Pleasanton; decisions decisions - which has the best Farmers' Market, and fun and games in the FBI and the Police Academy.


End file.
